


The Warrior

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a new player in town, but who or what is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warrior

## The Warrior

#### by Rae Evans

  
Jim and Blair et al belong to PetFly, but I them all to myself. Benny Ray Riddle and his colleagues belong to Rysher, who probably belong to Paramount, but no one is really sure.  
I want to thank the wonderful Starwatcher, who once again did an amazing job on the beta.  
This was the season finale of Season 3 of the The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season.  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

The Warrior 

Chapter 1 

The name on the passport said Peter Shaw, and for once it was true. He had plenty of passports; different nationalities, different names, but always the same face though. This time he had used his own passport. It was rare he did that these days and truthfully, if he had been asked, he would not have been able to say why he had chosen this trip to travel as himself. He was working and, strictly speaking, that meant he should have used one of his many alter egos. He had been sloppy and that was bad. Sloppy got you caught or killed, and he was too good at his job, usually, for that to happen. In fact he was one of the best, paid the top rate and offered only the most lucrative contracts for the most difficult hits. So far he had been untouchable, although that close call in Vienna had shaken him and he had lain low for a while. But that was in the past and he had undertaken five, no six, successful jobs since then. Vienna was behind him, history, forgotten. 

He looked down at his passport again as he waited in line. His own face stared back at him. He looked good. You would probably guess early forties from the photograph, but he was nearer fifty. Short hair, slightly graying at the temples; "distinguished" the hooker in London had called it. He had laughed then and he smiled now at the memory. The hair wasn't short enough to be military cut, but if you looked closely and knew what you were looking for, you might guess. The eyes gave it away. The photograph didn't do the color justice. They were a dark brown, almost black and they watched everything. They checked for the nearest exit, they checked for the closest cover, they checked for any potential or perceived threat. He couldn't help it; it was his training, and preparation was everything. It was what got you through the task; it was what got you home again in one piece. His training had been in the British Army, infantry, Paras and then SAS. Those were the best and so he was the best, and that was why he was going to kill a judge today and walk away scott free. 

Customs and Immigration passed him through without a second thought and he emerged into the sunshine of LAX, squinting. Sunglasses on, he boarded the bus to the Alamo car reservation office on Inglewood. He picked up the car, a nondescript mid-range sedan of uninteresting color and make and within thirty minutes was parked in a small private parking garage on Sunset. He left the car and crossed the road to the much larger multistorey parking garage opposite. The car had been left where he had instructed. He waited an hour, watching quietly, before he approached the vehicle. The trunk was unlocked swiftly and the holdall inside removed. It had taken about fifteen seconds and he was gone. 

Of course to make it that simple had taken weeks of preparation. The instructions he had given to his contact had been followed precisely. He expected nothing less; he chose his contacts well. In these days of security-conscious airlines it was impossible to transport weapons anywhere. He had taken to establishing a local contact wherever he had a job. The contact would make some of the arrangements, most particularly acquiring the hardware he needed. This time he had gone for the Remington 700 with a Leopold sight. It was a favored weapon of a type he had used before. It was reliable and efficient and he felt comfortable with it. On his earlier visit he had tried out the weapon and it had performed as expected. The contact was long gone, paid off already and, if he knew what was good for him, already suffering amnesia over the work he had done. There had been occasions when it had been necessary to eliminate contacts. It was wasteful but necessary, an unfortunate byproduct, but there where plenty of contacts for the right price. 

He walked one block over and two up. He stood on the corner of Hollywood Boulevard, hefted the holdall onto his shoulder and slipped down the side of a building. At the moment it was an Internet caf, all ciabatta bread, sun-dried tomatoes and terminals that were slow and badly equipped. At the end of the alley there was a locked door. A freshlymade virgin key came from his pocket and opened the door silently. He had used WD40 on the hinges on his previous visit. Behind the door were steps. They led directly to the roof. His rubber-soled shoes made no sound at all. On his previous visit he had made the contact run up and down the stairs three times while he sat in the caf listening. He had heard nothing, but he didn't rely on that alone. The shoes he had chosen were designed for silent movement. 

He was hardly out of breath when he reached the roof, three floors up. Taking a plain block of wood out of the holdall, he placed it between the door and the frame. His exit had to be quick and problem-free. Ensuring a door didn't suddenly jam on him was just one way to guarantee that clear pathway. A thin strand of copper wire was placed across the gap, connected at one end to a small black box, with the other end attached to the outside of the door. An earpiece, which he had carried with him from England, was set to the correct frequency and then placed in his ear. He would receive a single bleep if the circuit created by the copper wire were broken. An early warning system, it had saved his life in Vienna. 

Slowly, in the afternoon sun, he removed the various pieces from the holdall. He cleaned each piece and slowly, almost lovingly, put the rifle together. He had the luxury of time on this job. The target was not due to make an appearance until exactly 1800 hours. It was 1430 now, so he could take his time. Once the rifle was assembled he got into position. He had worked this out before; he had paced the distance, calculated the math, the angle, the elevation, trajectory and windage. One more thing and he was ready. It was a small child's toy, a windmill of sorts. A stick of wood with plastic sails nailed to the stick. He had made it himself and it showed wind speed and direction, enough for him to make all the necessary corrections to ensure the target was acquired. 

Having finished his preparations, he waited. He didn't mind waiting; was, in fact, used to it. He found it calmed him before the kill, settled his mind and soothed his heart. About an hour before the due time he noticed the cover sniper on the roof of the building he was watching. The man was black; that was unusual in his experience. He watched the other sniper's preparations and approved. He spotted the watcher to, although he was well hidden and it had only been a glint of the rays of the setting sun that had given him away. That was two. He wondered how many more there were. His eyes swept the front of the building. There was an area in front of the building that was open. A red carpet had already been laid from the curb to the entrance to the theatre. Barricades kept the public, who had been slowly gathering for about two hours, away. His target would arrive by car; make his way up the red carpet and into Mann's Chinese Theatre. 

He thought it odd that a Supreme Court Judge would sire a woman as beautiful as the young starlet who had debuted in this film. The judge was here to support his daughter in her foray onto the Hollywood treadmill. The judge had taken a break from his caseload. The next day he was hearing a case that had caused much fury in certain quarters, enough fury for certain people to decide that the judge had to die. Being heard was the case of one Dominic Brazzo, former trusted lieutenant to one of the biggest Mafia bosses in America. When Dommy had been caught with a dead hooker in the trunk of his car he had been charged with Murder One. The truth was that Dommy was cleaning up after his boss' youngest and most wayward son. It was a job Dommy hated and felt was beneath him, but was a job he had been doing for six months when he was caught. He was incensed that he had been left to his fate while the prodigal son had been on a private jet to Columbia, out of harm's way. 

The judge had offered Dommy a deal; turn State's evidence and the Murder One charge would go away. Dommy's boss had tried various ways to get to his former employee to persuade him that giving away secrets was not a healthy occupation, but had so far failed. When the judge had decided that his avowed intent was to hunt down and destroy Dommy's boss through the agency of the Courts, he had sealed his own fate. A contract was taken out on the judge, and the execution of that contract would be a singular reminder to Dommy to keep his mouth shut. 

Shaw spotted two more; a man and a woman in smart suits and earpieces. At least they didn't wear the ubiquitous black suits, so they weren't FBI; probably private contractors. Interesting, he thought. Since the judge's announced crusade he had been guarded, and that protection had been stepped up in advance of Dommy's hearing. Shaw had spotted four so far, and wondered if there were any more. 

Cars were starting to arrive. He knew the license number of the car he wanted. It was the seventh to pull up. The woman he had spotted earlier moved to open the door of the car. A man got out of the front passenger seat. She checked first and then, on a signal from the man who had got out of the car she opened the door. The judge stepped out and the woman took up position behind him. 

They were good, thought Shaw; there was no doubt about that. He had never failed before though and he wouldn't fail now, regardless of how good the protection was. The first shot took out the woman behind, hitting her high in the back and to the left. She fell forward. The second shot blew the judge's head apart like a ripe watermelon bursting. Peter Shaw's kill book had another entry. 

All hell broke loose on the ground. The man ignored the judge, who was so obviously dead, and went to the fallen female bodyguard. On the roof of the building that housed the Internet caf, the rifle was left behind. The roof was empty and Peter Shaw was already making his way down the stairs. He would leave the building, walk out of the alleyway, and go down two blocks and across one. He would get in the car and drive away. He had decided to take a trip to the Grand Canyon. In all his travels he had never been there, and Peter Shaw felt he had earned himself a holiday. It didn't take long to get onto the 405 and from there he had the freedom of the Interstate network. 

Chapter 2 

Two weeks later - Day one 

Something was wrong. He smelled it in the air, felt it crawl across his skin, and could almost taste it on his tongue. He had learned his lesson the hard way last time. Then he had seen the other spirit animal, he had dreamed of killing his guide and had said nothing until it was too late. He would not make the same mistake again. The anxious feelings had been enough, earlier that morning, to drive him from his warm bed and send him to the gym. The exercise had done nothing to ease his anxiety, but he had at least recognized what the feelings represented and had determined that he would not be alone when he faced whatever threatened him, his guide and his city. 

Jim Ellison pushed open the door of the loft and found the said guide standing in the middle of the kitchen. Hands on his hips, hair loose and slightly wild, wearing black jeans and a midnight blue shirt over a white undershirt, he looked good enough to eat. The look on his face was enough to dispel any thoughts of eating anything. He stared at Jim, eyes wide 

"You feel it too?" Jim asked, somehow knowing Blair would know what he was talking about. 

"What the hell is it? I feel like I have ants crawling all over my body." 

"I don't know. I woke this morning and felt the same. A workout hasn't helped." 

"Is this what it felt like when Alex showed up?" There was a pained look on Blair's face. 

Jim slowly shook his head pondering Blair's words. "Not really. This is different, not really threatening, just ... weird." 

Blair's hands left his hips and rifled through his hair. "Weird. Yeah it's weird, but there's something else too. I just can't place it." He stared at Jim, looking for answers. 

Lost in those blue eyes, Jim heard a deep full roar and sensed an animal presence, though he could see nothing. Blair was upon him, pushing him against the door, forcing it closed. The younger man was already breathing hard. 

"God, I want you so bad," Blair uttered as he started pushing off Jim's jacket and pulling up his shirt. 

Jim batted away the searching hands and captured the beautiful face in his hands. He attacked, ravaging his lover's mouth. He couldn't stop himself; he was already painfully hard. He tried to speak, but an animalistic growl was all that came out. Gripping Blair's forearms tightly, he forced the smaller man back. Despite the grip, Blair managed to reach Jim's belt and was fumbling with the buckle. 

"Want you, want you, want you." Blair was repeating the mantra over and over at an almost sub-vocal level. 

Jim practically threw Blair on to the couch, concentrating on the full red lips and the beautiful blue eyes that seemed big enough to drown in. They paused and stared at each other. Jim's tongue mirrored Blair's as he wet his own lips. Dropping to his knees in front of his lover, Jim kept his eyes on Blair's face while his hands tore at buttons and a zipper, pulling denim over hips and down strong sturdy legs. Frustrated with knotted laces, he simply pulled the shoes off untied, and dragged the jeans over Blair's feet. The boxers were no impediment as he grabbed the waistband and tore the material apart. His eager hands gripped Blair's legs and pulled him into Jim's lap. Jim was lost in the smell of his partner's lust for sex, lost in his own desire; the need to have his cock deep inside his guide, to hear him scream in orgasmic ecstasy, was overwhelming. Blair had enough of a shred of sense left to cast his eye around for something to lubricate the experience. He could see nothing and the longing to be taken was building in him so much that he felt he was going to burst. 

"Jim!" he managed to gasp out. 

"No!" Jim shouted. "You're mine now." 

Blair's mouth dropped open and he nodded dumbly. Jim stood, dumping Blair on his ass and hurried to the bathroom. On his return, he found his naked lover where he had left him. Jim stood looking down at the pleasure that awaited him. Blair reached up and finished what his hands had started earlier, pulling Jim's trousers to his ankles. Jim kneeled again in front of the couch and pulled his lover towards him. With a precision borne of desperate control he gave the tube of lube to Blair. Once again Jim captured that beautiful face and plunged into the sweetness of a mouth he had tasted over and over again and never failed to enjoy. 

"You're mine," he snarled as their lips parted. 

He felt Blair's hands on his cock. Even the cold of the lube couldn't dampen his ardor. He lifted Blair's hips and drew him forward. Blair came up on his knees, straddling Jim's lap. Jim's hands slid down from Blair's hips to his thighs. 

"Blair," he panted, "I can't be gentle here. I need you now." 

The younger man was panting as well. His head dropped to Jim's chest and he reached behind, stretching himself for his lover. For Jim it was all taking too long. There was a frisson in the very air he was breathing now and he was rapidly losing what little control he had. A tiny part of his brain was asking questions, daring him to confront his behavior. He ignored it and pulled Blair up and stared into his lover's passion-drenched eyes. 

"Now, Blair, please, now." 

Blair could only nod, incapable of speech. Jim drew him up further and Blair held Jim's cock, aligning it with his own body. Jim pushed Blair down, forcing his cock deep inside the sweet tight heat. He could feel Blair's heart beat, feel the blood rushing around his body, the oxygen being forced into his lungs. In the moment of completeness, when Jim was deep inside where he wanted to be for the rest of his life, the excess of their passion dimmed and he saw Blair look at him, lucidity in his eyes that had not been there seconds ago. 

"What the hell is going on, Jim?" Blair asked desperately. 

"I don't know, but all my senses are hyped up. I can feel you breathe, see every different shade of color in your hair, in your eyes." He paused. "I can taste you without touching you and I can hear the blood in your body ... flowing so fast." Jim closed his eyes and listened to that sweet sound. 

"Jim, don't zone now." 

"No, I can't zone," Jim whispered dreamily. 

Blair groaned. Jim's eyes snapped open and he smiled. 

"Jim," Blair pleaded. 

"I know, Chief, I know." 

Jim's hands splayed across Blair's back and pulled him close. He settled into a rhythm, hips rising and falling, both of them riding the waves of pleasure. 

"Oh my god!" The words were forced from Blair as the ecstasy of the movements drove him towards orgasm. 

"I can make this last, Blair. I can feel what you feel. It is fucking unbelievable. It's as though you are part of me, but separate all at the same time. I can't explain it better than that. You're seeping into my soul." 

He thrust gently with his hips and his cock brushed Blair's prostate. He saw the ripple of Blair's scream wash from his groin across his chest and explode from his lungs into the loft. Jim's hands glided to Blair's shoulders and he pushed his lover back until the edge of the couch supported him. He felt the strain in Blair's thigh muscles and raised himself so that he was kneeling up and Blair was pushed further on to the soft surface. While one hand supported Blair's lower back the other gently unbent his legs, so that his feet now rested flat on the floor. Jim settled back onto his haunches, pulling Blair with him, and resumed his thrusts, exciting Blair's prostate, pushing him further to completion. He felt the minute changes in the body beneath him and knew that they pulled his own body along with them. He was caught in the flood. 

"Blair can you feel it? Oh god it feels so good, better than anything." 

Blair didn't answer. His arms were thrown wide from his body, gripping the couch, his knuckles white; his eyes were closed and his lips slightly apart. There was an arch to his back and the sweat on his stomach glistened. Jim leaned forward, driving into his lover, every thrust forcing him deeper into the current of Blair's orgasm. Suddenly there was nothing holding him up; the current had disappeared, and he fell headlong over the edge and saw the water below boiling up to meet him. 

* * *

Blair didn't know how long he lay there swimming in post-coital bliss. He had just had the most awesome orgasm ever and he wanted that glowing feeling to last forever, but breathing was becoming more of a problem. Jim was lying on top of him. The man was unconscious, completely blown away by the experience they had just gone through. Blair had come all over his own chest and now that chest was being slowly crushed. His backside rested on Jim's thighs, Jim's head on his shoulder; altogether not the most comfortable position to be in. 

Jim's cock had slipped out of him earlier, so now he wriggled his backside down Jim's thighs until it reached the floor. Putting his arms round Jim's back he twisted slightly, easing Jim on to his right side. The man hardly stirred, but Blair groaned, taking in a deep, full breath. Shifting into a more comfortable position he pulled Jim close to his chest, wondering if he could reach the afghan to cover them both. He dismissed the thought, knowing he would have to twist and turn to reach it and, however carefully he did that, it was bound to disturb his partner. He simply closed his eyes, enjoying the moment; he was warm enough for now. 

* * *

In his dreams, Jim was the panther. This existence in the spirit world no longer scared him; each time it happened he grew more comfortable in his four-legged body. Running through the jungle, he rumbled a greeting when the wolf joined him in the race. They ran side by side, matching each other stride for stride until the jungle parted and they reached their destination. Incacha stood on the lower steps of the temple. Jim stood next to the wolf who panted at the exertion. The wolf always panted a lot more than the panther, Jim had noticed, and that the wolf's tongue lolled out the side of its jaw at every stop. The tongue was long and very red and it drooled. Jim smiled at the similarities between Blair and his spirit guide; he had been on the receiving end of Blair's drooling before. 

"You must be ready sentinel. A grave danger threatens." Incacha spoke quietly. 

Jim desperately wanted to know more, but knew that in his current shape he could ask no questions. Another animal approached. Jim sniffed the air and looked at the wolf. He had noticed it too. Around the side of the temple a large pale cat stalked. It exuded power and strength, a controlled violence, but Jim felt no threat. On the contrary, he felt a growing sense of energy, of his senses growing, deepening, and invigorating his very being. He roared his acceptance of the strange cat's presence. As the pale cat came to stand by Incacha's side he recognized it as a white Bengal tiger, pale light gray fur streaked with darker stripes. The cat's muscles rippled as it jumped from the steps to join him and Blair on the ground. It circled Jim, sniffing the air, examining the panther with pale blue-gray eyes. Apparently satisfied with what it saw, the tiger turned its attention to the wolf. It circled once and then started to circle again, stopping by the wolf's haunches. The wolf had kept its eyes on the panther while the tiger checked him out. The wolf was uneasy at the close inspection and then suddenly yelped and swung his rear end around at the touch of a cold nose at his back passage. The wolf nipped at the tiger's nose not making contact and moved into the protection of the panther's side. The tiger cocked it's head on one side, a bemused look on its face. The panther smiled at the antics as the wolf growled low in its chest, not so much threatening as laying down a few ground rules. 

The panther stiffened, all sense of playfulness gone. He could see the tiger had sensed the threat too. Growling at the tiger, the panther set off on a fast run away from the temple. As the jungle rushed by the panther saw the wolf to his left, running with an easy lope that kept pace. The wolf's tongue was already hanging out. To his right the tiger ran, strangely silent for such a big cat. The three creatures sped through the jungle and Jim felt a sense of completeness that made him smile. 

* * *

Blair started awake, panting. Somehow as they slept they had both slipped to the floor. They lay in each others arms, the sun streaming through the balcony windows bathing them in warmth. He turned to Jim, who was awake, staring at him with large blue eyes. 

"Did you ...?" Blair gasped. 

"The tiger?" Jim asked, knowing the answer already. 

"What the hell is going on?" Blair asked. 

"I think we need to work this out." Jim put his hands on his lover as he sat up. Blair nodded. 

* * *

Benny Ray Riddle was tired. Actually he had gone past tired about seven days ago and exhausted had been signposted five days back. Now he was dead on his feet. He knew he was close, and with that knowledge his body told him to rest; the battle was coming soon and he would need all his resources then. The plane had landed about seven AM, the first flight in from Vancouver. His weapon had delayed his passage through customs, until he had shown three different people all the necessary permits at least twice each and they had finally let him go. He had been about to call his CIA contact, Xavier Trout, to oil the wheels when the senior customs officer had agreed with the airport's chief of security and they had shaken his hand and welcomed him to Cascade. With the ubiquitous words 'have a nice day' ringing in his ears he walked slowly to the Enterprise desk and settled on a nondescript blue SUV for his visit to the northwestern seaboard. Advice from the customer information desk had him heading to a nearby Comfort Inn and sleep. 

His dreams were haunted, as they had been from that moment fourteen days ago in LA. He hadn't heard the shots he had only seen the beautiful woman at his side stumble and fall. He was aware that the man they were guarding had also gone down, but his attention was centered on Margo Vincent. The bullet had entered just below her left shoulder from behind. As she had fallen she had still tried to protect the client, knocking him forward and onto to his knees. The shooter had been too good though; his bullet had blown a large hole in the back of the Judge's head and blood and brains had pooled on the red carpet underneath his body. Sparing a glimpse for his team leader, Major Matt Shepherd, who shook his head to confirm the death, Benny Ray had turned all his attention on the woman. She was face down, her auburn shoulder-length hair hiding her face. The entry wound wasn't too big, but he dreaded turning her body over. He knew from experience what devastation the sniper's bullet would have wrought on its passage through. Glancing up into the night sky, he had briefly tried to determine the bullet's trajectory, spotting several buildings on Hollywood Boulevard that could have been the sniper's nest. A groan brought him back to the woman beneath his hands. 

In his dreams his hands were stained with her blood and she had rolled onto her back, a gaping wound in her stomach horribly revealed. Her eyes had opened, but they had been devoid of life and her dead mouth had uttered words that had haunted him ever since. "Why, Benny Ray? Why have you done this to me?" 

Each time he had no answer for her and let tears fall down his face in mute recognition of his powerlessness. But Margo hadn't died. She had been rushed to the hospital, paramedics keeping her alive, just, until surgeons had worked wonders putting her back together. Benny Ray had no idea why his dreams killed Margo, no idea why she blamed him for her death. He felt guilty, there was no doubt about that, but then he felt guilty every time a member of the team got hurt on a mission. He wasn't team leader, but it was the nature of the man that he felt responsible for the well-being of all his people. But that did not explain the nightmare which invaded his sleep, time after time. In some respects he was grateful he had gotten so little sleep over the last two weeks; no sleep meant no nightmares. Those few stolen hours had never been dream free, no matter how tired he had been. 

They came again now as his body took the rest it needed, but there was more this time; he had a feeling of being watched. Benny Ray was a man who trusted his skills, which were considerable, his people, who were the best, and his gut. His intuition had been honed over years of training and experience, and had rarely let him down; he trusted himself implicitly and he knew when he was being watched. He concentrated and, in the gloom of his dream, he saw two pairs of eyes. Striking blue eyes stared hard at him, holding him still in their glare, and suddenly there was a deep-throated growl that stirred him from his sleep. Benny Ray checked the room. His body was screaming at him for more sleep and, sensing no threat, he listened to his body and obeyed. 

* * *

Peter Shaw had left the car in Tuba City. He had gone to the Grand Canyon and, because the mood had taken him, he had made side trips to Bryce and Zion and then submitted to the merest whim and driven the long straight road across the Painted Desert to Monument Valley. Realizing that he had kept the same car for a week, he ditched the vehicle and took the train away from Arizona and headed north. Canada was very different from America and at the same time very similar; the same restaurants, the same TV, but there were definite differences in the two peoples. While the Americans were brash, the Canadians were laid back. Shaw knew he generalized, but it was true that the line drawn on the map produced profound cultural differences that he failed to explain. The one major difference that attracted him above all others and made him choose Americans over Canadians was fear. Americans, certainly since 9/11, lived in a constant state of fear, while the Canadians were trusting and open. Shaw liked fear; the smell of it excited him, and the look on a victim's face made him smile. It made his job easier. Fear made people cautious and cautious people were predictable and when outcomes could be predicted the odds were always in his favor and that was all he needed. 

He had driven from Vancouver to Washington State, keen to do some hiking, maybe buy a hunting rifle and sharpen his skill. Normally he practiced against targets back home on the English-Welsh border, where the land he owned gave him the privacy to do so. He had not been home for a few months now and while his last hit had been gratifyingly successful, he always accepted the need to hone those skills. Where better to do that than the wilds of the Cascade Mountains? A little hunting would be good, but first he wanted a little luxury and maybe a little female company. A room booked at the Cascade Hilton was more than adequate to provide the pampering he required, and a word to the concierge and a large tip held a promise of some company later that evening. 

Waiting until the door closed behind the bellboy, Shaw opened the double doors and stepped out on to the balcony. The Hilton was situated in downtown Cascade, but his room faced the sea and his view across the city was uninterrupted. He breathed deeply. Even now, two weeks after the judge's death, national papers were asking how it could have happened and demanding those responsible be brought to account. The FBI was under pressure, and two early arrests had been embarrassing failures. That had made him chuckle, watching the police chase their tails. They had no idea who had made the hit and he was not about to do anything to alter that. Taking another deep breath, Shaw suddenly shuddered. A phrase from his childhood crossed his mind. Someone had just walked across his grave. He dismissed the dreary thought and returned to his room, shutting the doors against the late afternoon chill that swirled round him. The hot water of the shower finally drove the disquiet from his shoulders and he looked forward to the evening before him. 

Chapter Three 

Day One into Day Two 

Blair and Jim sat in the truck. They had talked the dream to death; at least that's how Jim felt. As soon as Blair had discovered they had shared the same dream, he had picked it apart and put it back together again a dozen times in a dozen different ways. The only things they had been able to take away from those deliberations were an as yet unidentified threat 'out there' and that the tiger, or rather whoever the tiger represented, was an ally against this enemy. Both men had agreed on that. Blair had pointed out that he could be a she, tiger that is, but Jim disagreed. The tiger had not felt female he explained. Blair had laughed gently and agreed, but then laughed harder as Jim went on to say that no self-respecting female would be sniffing around Blair's backside, tiger or no. Blair had remonstrated that he had a very nice backside eminently attractive to the female of the species, which had led to much groping, to their joint pleasure. 

Now, sitting in the truck, waiting for Eduardo Guittierez to appear and complete the deal on the biggest buy of cocaine that Cascade had seen in many years, the subject inevitably came up again. Although it's inevitable only because Blair's in the truck, thought Jim. As far he was concerned it was over and done with and all they could do now was wait for the threat to materialize and counter it. Blair, on the other hand, wanted to talk about it. 

"I think your reaction to the tiger clearly shows that there isn't another sentinel in town. Do you think he could be another guide? He didn't feel like a threat, though I have to say I wasn't happy about all that sniffing. It was different from when you sniff me. That's just sexy, man, this was ... weird." Blair was thinking out loud. 

Since their incredible lovemaking earlier in the day, Jim hadn't needed to sniff for his guide's scent. Every breath he took was full of all the smells that made up the complex man beside him; the smell of his shampoo, his conditioner, his soap, his toothpaste and the more earthy smells of sweat and desire. At first Jim had felt overwhelmed, but he had quickly accepted the input, realizing that he could tell every nuance of his partner's mood just by smell alone. It was like a sensual telepathy. But it wasn't just his sense of smell that was enhanced over and above its normal heightened state; Jim's hearing had been able to pinpoint Blair's position exactly, even when they went to the local market and Blair had stopped to check out the freshness or otherwise of the eggplant. Jim had continued pushing the cart, knowing every step Blair took and which aisle he was in. It took no effort; he didn't have to think about it, he just knew, it was innate. Jim had told Blair what was happening with his senses, but had been less forthcoming about how that was affecting the way he perceived his lover. They had spent most of their time discussing the dream. Jim would tell Blair soon, but for now this new level of awareness gave him a sense of being that was far and above whatever he had experienced before. What was more amazing was that he was having no trouble dealing with the new levels. He had assimilated all the new input and dealt with it. Just like that. As easy as it was to say, so it had been to do. It was as though the dials had suddenly gotten an extra ten settings and he was turned all the way up. 

They had both used the word 'weird' many times that day but they were no closer to explaining why things were weird and, for Jim, going over old ground didn't turn up anything new. He wanted to deflect Blair. 

"Why do you think these deals always go down in the middle of the night? Why can't these people keep office hours?" 

Blair turned to look at Jim. "You're being facetious right?" he asked smiling. 

Jim turned to him. "Nope. I think there should be a universal law that says that no drug deals should be made after ... I don't know ... say ten PM." 

"Not that I disagree with you, Jim, but ... why?" Blair was still smiling. 

"Well it would mean that you and I could spend more nights tucked up in bed rather than sitting out here in the cold, and it would mean this wouldn't be totally inappropriate." He stopped talking and lightly kissed the smiling lips. 

"Mmmm, you taste so good," muttered Blair licking his lips as Jim pulled back. 

Jim leaned into his seat. Blair was so easy to distract, Jim chuckled. As Blair moved to exact revenge, Jim stiffened. "We've got company." 

Blair was immediately all business. "Where?" 

Jim slipped out of the truck and closed the door quietly. He knew without thinking that Blair was also out of the truck and moving around the back to stand behind him. It was like knowing what his left arm was doing; Blair was an extension of his own body, his own existence. 

"Six men approaching from the east, all armed. They've got the drugs with them," Jim explained quietly to his guide. 

"How do you know they have the drugs with them?" Blair asked. 

"I can smell it." 

"Awesome." 

Jim moved into the alley behind the warehouse they had been watching. "Eduardo has four men hidden in different parts of the warehouse." 

Blair reached for his cell phone. Jim angled his head, listening to the multiple conversations taking place. He could hear and understand all of them, and part of him acknowledged Blair calling in backup. 

"Shouldn't we get closer?" Blair asked. 

Jim shook his head, "I can hear them from here." He felt Blair's surprise. "Stay close, Chief," he muttered. 

With his senses boosted as they were, Jim knew it was more imperative that he maintain his contact with his guide. Blair's right hand rested on the small of Jim's back. He sighed, contented. 

"We need a formal ID on the seller. Can you piggyback sight on to smell to get a look at him?" Blair asked. 

Jim nodded. "From inside, maybe. Backup is here, let's move in." 

Without turning his head, Jim signaled to those he knew were behind him, ready to help. Sentinel and guide moved forward. Jim had said nothing to Blair but, as he started running to the rear entrance they had noticed previously, Blair was right behind him. 

It was very dark in the warehouse, a weak light source just visible across the other side of the building. 

"Pinpoint Eduardo's men and find a way around them so we can get a clear line of sight." 

Jim led the two of them on a circuitous path around large packing cases, avoiding all contact with the bad guys. Jim stopped and stared. "I don't recognize him, Chief." 

"A new player?" 

"Or a very careful one." 

Jim dropped to a crouch, his guide with him, a split second before shooting broke out. Bullets flew everywhere. As Jim looked at his guide he saw concern spread across his face. Jim's hand found Blair's shoulder and he squeezed it in reply. "We're okay here for the moment. With any luck they'll shoot each other and we can just pick up the pieces." 

Blair hit the speed dial and told Simon to hold position, that they were okay. The gunfire was more sporadic now. The two groups who had so recently been ready to deal were now intent on killing each other. Automatic weapons spat out concentrated bursts of death. 

"Eduardo's lost three men, the seller four." 

"It's good to know the Cascade contingent are better shots," Blair muttered nervously. 

Jim grinned into the dark and came back up into a crouch. He made his way forward quietly and cautiously. Once or twice he veered off left or right, always progressing towards the target, but never crossing paths with either group still trying to overcome the other. Jim didn't speak to Blair. The hand of his guide was constantly at his back, even though Jim gave no verbal warning of his movements; Blair knew when and where he was going. 

Jim was after the seller. This guy had been supplying half of Cascade over the last eighteen months. Narcotics had gotten close twice, but a young undercover cop had been left dead and a second pulled out minutes before his cover was blown. At that point the Chief of Police had handed the case to Major Crime. In all that time, no one had gained any information about the man that headed the cartel. People were either too afraid or genuinely didn't know. Jim was not sure which it was but, to be honest, he didn't really care. All he wanted was to stop this man polluting the streets of his city. Now Jim was closer than anyone had been, and the bastard wasn't getting away. 

Jim listened. Eduardo had gone down in the last hail of bullets but wasn't dead ... yet. But the buyers still had the upper hand; they outnumbered the sellers and it seemed their mysterious leader had realized this. He had left his men to continue the losing battle and was making a strategic retreat. Jim was working his way around to cut off the man's exit. Behind him Blair was on the phone again. 

"Jim and I are on the seller. Move in now. Eduardo is down and the stragglers seem to have lost the appetite for all-out devastation." 

Jim had phrased it slightly differently when he had told Blair to report in, and he smiled at Simon's response. 

"Thank you, Professor Sandburg, for your considered assessment. Please make sure both my detectives come out in one piece." 

"Yes, sir." 

Blair cut the connection. Jim took off fast, keeping low. He stopped adjacent to steps that led up into the gloom. His gun was out, safety off. The footsteps that Jim had been keeping track of came closer. A split second after the man stepped into view, Jim stepped forward, pressing the gun into the man's neck. 

"Cascade PD; drop the bag and put your hands carefully on your head. No sudden movements." 

For a moment Jim thought the man would resist, but he saw and felt the slightest shrug that preceded the man dropping the canvas bag to the floor, then placing his hands on top of his head. Jim cuffed the man as Blair bent down and unzipped the bag. 

"It looks like it's all here, Jim." 

Jim was patting down the sharply-dressed man standing in front of him. An English-made designer suit of dark blue covered a fit, tall body. Removing a wallet from an inside pocket, Jim was able to put a name to the face. As uniformed officers approached, Jim handed over the wallet and then his prisoner. Simon was a few paces behind the uniforms. 

"This our seller, Jim?" the captain asked. 

"George Hudson, according to his driver's license. Did we get all the others?" Jim asked, changing the subject. 

"The paramedics are working on Guittierez now. He'll live, unfortunately. All of Hudson's men are dead, but two of Guittierez' men are still loose in the building." 

Blair stepped back from handing the canvas bag to a uniformed officer and stood beside Jim, his hand automatically coming to the small of his back. 

"They're both on the upper level walkway, eighty yards away ... there." Jim pointed. 

Simon peered into the gloom and shook his head; Jim knew he couldn't see them. Blair waited patiently at his side. 

"One of them has taken a hit in the right leg, he's bleeding bad. Both are out of ammo." 

Simon's jaw dropped and he covered his astonishment, blustering orders to the remaining uniforms. "Well don't just stand there, go and get them. You heard the man." 

The three men were soon alone. 

"Jim what's happening? How did you know all that?" There was a worried look on Simon's face. 

Jim looked at Blair, wondering if his guide would step in with an explanation. When he didn't, instead staring confidently at Jim, the taller man turned back to his captain. "Do you really want to know, Simon?" 

The black man paused. "This time I do." 

"Jim's senses have been hyped up, over and above normal," Blair explained. 

"Over and above normal for Jim?" 

Blair nodded, hurrying on with his explanation. "He woke up this morning and he had like ... super super-senses." 

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Super super-senses?" 

"He's right, Simon. I can hear, smell, taste, see and feel everything even more intensely," Jim contributed. 

"We haven't done any tests yet, but I'd say from what I've seen so far that Jim's range on all his senses has at least doubled." 

Jim noticed the word 'yet' and winced inwardly. 

"Why?" Simon asked firmly. 

"Why what?" Blair replied. 

Simon frowned, annoyance skittering across his face. "Why has this happened, Sandburg?" 

"We don't know. Jim and I shared this dream and there was a tiger which is probably someone's spirit animal, but we don't know whose and we don't know if they are a threat and we don't know why, but neither Jim nor I feel threatened, but Jim's senses are in overdrive." Blair stopped to breathe. 

"You don't know much, Sandburg, do you?" 

Blair looked momentarily hurt. 

"I don't think we'll have to wait long, Simon. Don't ask me how I know," Jim went on to forestall the next inevitable question, "I just do." 

Simon bit down on the ever-present cigar. "Keep me informed," he demanded and stalked off. 

Checking the scene, bagging evidence or identifying it for the forensic team took another hour, and then it was back to the station to interrogate those arrested who weren't in the hospital. Guittierez was in surgery and George Hudson had refused to say anything until his highly paid lawyer was called. Jim wasn't overly concerned or surprised; being caught in the act was going to be almost impossible to get out of, even with a fancy lawyer. 

Chapter Four 

Day Two 

As dawn broke over Cascade the two weary men made their way down to the parking garage. By the time they reached the truck, the dam burst. Blair had been all business while they were at the station, but Jim could tell what was bubbling below the surface. 

"Jim, you were awesome tonight. We were awesome. It was so cool." 

Jim smiled at his lover's excitement, but he needed to get a handle on this. "Chief, we have to think this through. There has to be a reason why this has happened. Simon is right." 

They tossed ideas backwards and forwards all the way back to the loft, but got nowhere. Now watching his lover move confidently around collecting mugs and making coffee, hardly paying attention to what was going on, Jim came to the conclusion that it was not just him who had been affected by whatever it was that was happening. It was Blair who had initiated the mind-blowing sex the day before, pushing him up against the door. Blair had been with him in the dream; it had been a shared experience. And tonight he had performed better than he had ever done before, because of Blair. His mind replayed the events of the raid and he realized that Blair had been tuned into him completely, moving when he moved, knowing when he needed the reassurance of a physical touch, coming up with suggestions that worked first time. Whatever was happening had affected them both. 

Jim sat on the couch, taking the mug of coffee offered to him. He stared at Blair, who sat opposite him on the coffee table. 

"So what we do, Chief?" Jim asked, supremely confident that his guide would come up with something. 

Blair blew on the hot coffee. He paused, gathering his thoughts, "Okay, the tiger is the spirit animal of someone who is coming to Cascade or is already here. This person is not another sentinel, because neither of us feels threatened, he could be a guide." 

Jim grinned into his mug, remembering the wolf's reaction when the tiger sniffed him. 

"Which means that this person is here to help us, but we don't know what we need his or her help with," Blair continued. 

"Him, Chief, definitely him," Jim interrupted. 

Blair shrugged and continued, "All we do know is that both of us are, as sentinel and guide pair, operating at a higher, more connected level than we have ever done before. My guess is that something is threatening the tribe, something so bad that we need help to counter it and the powers that be have sent the tiger to help us." Blair stopped talking, looked at Jim and shrugged his shoulders. 

"Welcome to the Twilight Zone, Chief?" Jim suggested kindly. 

"What do I know? I'm grasping at straws here, man." 

Jim reached out and took the mug of coffee from the man opposite him and pulled him onto the sofa beside him. The mug was put on the coffee table. 

"Whoa, Sandburg, hold off on the self-esteem issues for a while." 

Jim kissed the pouting lips and lifted Blair's chin so he could look into clear blue eyes. "Blair, this is so far out there that even you must be having trouble believing it ... the powers that be, Chief?" 

"Yeah, I know, kind of hinky." 

"This is way past hinky, Chief." 

Blair shrugged again, nodded and kissed Jim back. The kiss went on until Jim sat back onto the sofa, pulling the smaller man with him. Blair's deft fingers started to undo buttons. As each button was undone a small kiss was placed on Jim's chest. Blair slowly moved down. 

"Nothing we are working on at the moment is big enough to warrant that level of threat. The Guittierez deal was the biggest case we had and that's wrapped up now, without any help from the tiger," Jim expounded. 

He squirmed. Blair had reached his naval and was using his tongue to distract him; Jim struggled on. "So whatever 'it' is hasn't happened yet. We don't know what 'it' is or when 'it' is coming so all we can do is ... wait." 

The last word came out at a much higher pitch. Blair had bitten him. 

"We can do much more than wait, Jim." Blair spoke into Jim's pubic hair, sending sparks of passion through every nerve Jim Ellison owned. 

"Then let's 'wait' upstairs." 

Jim was forced to half drag, half carry his lover off the sofa and up the stairs. It was like wrestling with an amorous octopus. Blair's hands were everywhere and they resorted to every known trick, and a few new ones, to drive Jim wild. They hit the bed at the same time, but Blair managed to maneuver himself on top. Jim's shirt was open and Blair was undoing buttons at cuffs and pulling sleeves off arms. Using his toes, Jim pried off first one shoe and then the other. Blair was tugging at his jeans so Jim decided to return the favor. By the time they were both completely naked Blair had kissed, licked and nibbled every square inch of Jim's chest. Several times Jim had tried to pull Blair up to plunder that beautiful mouth, but each time Blair had resisted the pull, latching onto a nipple to distract the older man. 

* * *

Slowly Blair worked down Jim's chest; he had a target and nothing was going to stop him reaching it. Jim was sweating; his skin tasted faintly of salt. Blair loved the taste of Jim's skin and, positioning himself between Jim's open legs, he licked at the hollow of Jim's hips. He knew what that did to Jim; it was one of his erogenous zones. A groan of delight reached Blair's ears and he looked up to stare into dilated pupils. 

"Blair, please don't stop," Jim gasped. 

Jim's cock bobbed in front of Blair, like a snake charmed to waver in front of its tormentor. 

"You are such a slut, Ellison, so easy." Blair smiled as he kept one eye on the weeping cock that Jim was trying to push in the direction of his mouth. 

"Only for you, Blair. Only for you." 

"It had better be, Ellison, or you won't be getting any more of this." Blair gently licked Jim's cock from base to tip. He grinned at Jim's indrawn breath. "Or this." His tongue dipped into the slit at the top, tasting the precum collected there. 

"Always," Jim managed to get out before his eyes closed blissfully. 

Blair went for the top of Jim's cock with gusto. He took it into his mouth, allowing his lips and tongue to roll the glans all around his mouth. Jim tried to thrust up, but Blair's hands forced the hips down, keeping himself firmly and completely in control. Concentrating all his efforts on the top of the cock, Blair stroked with his tongue, sucked and grazed with his teeth as small nonsensical words escaped Jim's lips. Blair loved the feel of the cock head; it was slick and swollen, the skin pulled tight. It was a strange shade of red and purple. Giving head to Jim was such a hedonistic pleasure for Blair; he wanted it to go on forever. He sucked hard, swirling his tongue around, letting the bitter taste that filled his mouth call him back for more. 

Jim's tongue darted from his mouth to lick and wet his lips, as if that could bring an orgasmic end to the experience Blair was inflicting. 

"Dial it up, lover," Blair whispered. 

Jim's head tossed from side to side. "No," he managed to get out. "Too much." 

"I'll hold you, trust me." 

Blair knew Jim would not resist him. He loved taking Jim to the edge and pushing him over. Watching Jim orgasm, watching his body spasm in delight and knowing that he alone was totally responsible for that experience, was the second best feeling ever as far as Blair was concerned. Removing one hand from Jim's hip, Blair entwined his fingers around the shaft of Jim's cock. The skin on that part of Jim's cock was totally different from the head; it was wrinkled and rough. As Blair's hand caressed up and down he took care not to drag at the skin, ensuring the stimulation of his hand movement was smooth and constant. It was a rhythm Jim adored, a feeling that drove him forward to orgasm. Stimulating the long thick trunk while exciting the fat swollen head forced words out of his lover. 

"Oh god." 

Jim's back arched off the bed and his breath came in unsteady pants. Blair held off taking the whole of Jim's cock down his throat. He knew when he did come Jim would come quickly and he wanted to prolong this, to give Jim as much exquisite pleasure as he could possibly take. There were six thousand nerves in the head of a man's cock, and Blair was determined Jim would feel each and every one of them screaming into his brain. 

Blair wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the base of the cock and slid the ring of fingers up and down the shaft. His tongue changed its target, attacking the fraenulum, the y-shaped ridge at the back of the head of the cock. As his lips rested on that spot he hummed. Jim cried out, only capable now of animalistic exclamations. The leakage from Jim's cock increased, Jim's hands were in Blair's hair, holding Blair's head, scrabbling for a grip. Blair hummed again and, as Jim's back arched off the bed again, Jim opened his mouth wide, but no scream came forth. Instead, between each desperate grasp at air, whimpers of frustrated ecstasy delighted Blair's ears. 

Preparing for the end, knowing Jim was about as close as he could be without coming, Blair breathed out and took Jim down his throat. Jim cried out, "Blair!" 

Breathing in as he came up the cock and then out again as he drove down, Blair got the first taste of Jim's semen and, pulling back slightly, he sucked as Jim spurted long and hard into his mouth. He took it all, drinking it down, sucking as long as he could, licking with his tongue to take every drop. As Jim's beautiful proud cock softened, empty of its seed, Blair crawled up his lover's body. He felt the struggle for breath through Jim's ribs and put his hands on Jim's cheeks, murmuring words of reassurance and love. 

"Its okay, Jim, I've got you. Let go, Jim, you're safe now. Shhhhh, it's okay, I won't let you go." 

Blair's lips encountered Jim's briefly and the strangled breath that Jim drew in was like a sob. A smile of all-encompassing pleasure settled on Blair's face and he waited for Jim to open his eyes. He saw the wetness at Jim's eyelashes and used his thumb to forestall a tear falling. The eyes opened, struggling to focus at first, but then settling on Blair's face. Jim opened his mouth, but no words came out. 

"I love you, Jim Ellison." 

Jim closed his eyes, sleep claiming him suddenly. Blair stretched his body across the altar of his love and surrendered himself unfulfilled, but supremely happy, to the bliss of the man he loved more than his own life. 

* * *

The phone is a rude alarm clock, especially when you have only had six hours sleep. The digital numbers read 12:03 as Blair leaned over and groped for the phone. 

"Sandburg," he muttered, less than pleased at the audible intrusion. 

"Blair, it's Simon. I need you and Jim down at the station as soon as you can get here. The DA needs to speak to you." 

"Simon, come on, we worked until after four this morning. Give us a break, man." 

Jim removed the phone from the younger man's hands and spoke into it. "We'll be there in about an hour, sir." 

He hung up and looked down at the man beneath him. Blair smiled at the bemused gentle look on Jim's face. 

"Last night, Blair ... it was so ..." Jim couldn't find the words. 

"Awesome, cool, good, mind-blowing?" Blair tried to be helpful. A look of what seemed to Blair to be disappointment crossed his lover's visage. Jim lay back, pushing his hands through his short sleep-mussed hair. 

"Jim, what's wrong?" 

"It was so intense, Blair, but even at its best, and god it was the best ever, I never felt like I didn't have control. You took me right to the edge, Chief, but I could have stepped back any time. I didn't want to," Jim smiled. "But, Blair, this was different." Blair stayed quiet encouraging Jim with his eyes. "When you take me to the edge I trust you, Blair. I know you won't let me fall and I rely on you to keep hold of me and you do." Jim's eyes were glowing. Blair took Jim's hand bringing it to his lips. "But this time, I had control. I could have stepped back, jumped over the edge, flown, anything." 

"Are you saying you don't need me anymore for mind-blowing sex?" Blair pouted dramatically. 

"Not unless I learn to be a contortionist, Chief," Jim replied with a smirk. 

"Good to know I am useful for some things." Blair stuck his tongue out and Jim kissed it back into his mouth. When they parted, Blair was chuckling. 

"Speaking of that, Chief, if I recall correctly you didn't let me reciprocate last night." 

"Hey believe me, I enjoyed myself just fine. You, on the other hand, were awesome. You are so beautiful in the throes of passion." 

Jim laughed, "Waxing a little poetical aren't we, Chief?" 

"I'm in love, Jim, what can I say?" 

"Yeah, well lover boy you are also smelly, so get that cute little butt of yours out of bed and into the shower. And don't use all the hot water," Jim shouted as Blair's rapidlydisappearing cute butt wiggled. 

* * *

Jim lay back, contemplating his own words. Intense was the only word he could come up with that came anywhere near describing what had happened between them; intense, but sublime. Jim rolled out of bed and stood. Padding quietly down the stairs, he opened the bathroom door carefully and suddenly tore back the shower curtain. Blair jumped back, startled, yelling out loud at the surprise. Jim stepped under the water and pulled the curtain back in place. Shampoo bubbles were being washed out of Blair's hair, slowly sliding over his glistening body. Jim licked his lips in approval. 

"A little reciprocity is in order I think, Chief," he almost growled out. 

Blair waggled his fingers in a mock 'come hither' manner. "Bring it on then, big boy." 

Jim pounced. 

* * *

He had decided on a frontal attack. Subterfuge was not a good tactic when the enemy knew all your strengths and weaknesses. The restricted space argued in favor of this approach as well. Jim pushed Blair back against the tiled wall, taking all the water from the shower's spray. 

"Jim, I have shampoo in my hair, let me have some of the water." 

"It will cost you," Jim mumbled, pressing his cock against Blair's slick wet body. 

"How much?" Blair asked, his mouth only a tongue-tip away from Jim's. 

"A kiss," Jim demanded. 

"Sold to the man with the hard cock," Blair smiled as Jim took his prize. 

The very first time Jim had ever kissed Blair it had been a race. His tongue had explored every inch of the inside of Blair's mouth at breakneck speed and then rushed around and done it all again. Blair hadn't responded, apparently overwhelmed with the ferocity and speed of the attack. As they had broken apart Blair had frowned at him. 

"Jeez, Ellison, slow down will you? It's all about the journey, not how many speed limits you break on the way." 

Jim had been puzzled. 

"Enjoy the ride, man," Blair had said, and then given a practical demonstration on how slow could be infinitely better. 

Jim had been a very willing student and was soon a match for his teacher. Now when they kissed it wasn't a duel or a race, it was more a dance; neither man dominated, but neither man backed down or gave up. Blair liked to bite, catching Jim's tongue or his lips gently in his teeth, trapping and sucking. Jim, on the other hand, liked to move his tongue everywhere, drinking in his lover's taste, wandering over his teeth, down his throat, enticing the other tongue to join him in the dance. Slowing the kiss until only their lips touched, Jim broke the contact, turning Blair until he faced the wall. 

"Don't move, Chief. Hands on the wall at all times. Let me do this," he whispered into Blair's ear. 

The smaller man nodded and dropped his head forward, baring the back of his neck. Jim took the invitation, but did not use his tongue. Instead he used his fingers, touching every cell of skin on his lover's back. Sometimes his fingers merely skimmed the surface, barely allowing Blair to feel the caress; other times he grabbed hold with both hands, gripping almost to the point of pain. With one finger he traced every single vertebra in Blair's back, but when he reached that beautiful ass he used his palm to trace a circular motion over each cheek. Jim rubbed his hand through Blair's hair where the remains of the shampoo were still trapped. His left hand molded itself around Blair's left hip as the index finger of his right hand, now lubricated with shampoo, slipped easily into his lover's hot ass. Blair's head rested on the wall; he bent his arms at the elbow and stuck out his ass, forcing Jim's finger deep inside. Jim came up on tiptoe, and, as he inserted a second finger into that hot tight channel, he leaned forward swiftly and surely, covering Blair's back with his chest. His lips touched his lover's right ear. 

"Getting a little desperate are we, Blair?" he whispered. 

Blair moaned with need. 

"Remember, Blair, hands on the wall." 

Jim dropped his heels back on to the floor and scissored the fingers, stretching Blair, preparing him for what was to come. Three fingers replaced two, and Jim was panting. This was for Blair, but he wanted it just as much. His cock twitched in anticipation and Jim took a deep breath. He squeezed more shampoo from Blair's chestnut curls and used the suds to coat himself before dipping his knees slightly and placing his anxious cock at the entrance to Blair's hole. He straightened his legs. Jim felt the sound in Blair's chest as he took the hard cock all the way inside, first time. Jim's magic hands had relaxed his lover and the rumble of pleasure finished with a gasp of the most exquisite pain as Blair was pushed up, Jim's height forcing him onto the balls of his feet. Jim's arm slipped around the smaller man's waist, holding him, allowing Blair to steady himself before the onslaught. In that position Blair had little room for movement and was pretty much at Jim's mercy. A gentle nudge of Jim's hips pushed Blair forward. He moaned. 

"More, Jim. Please." 

Even in his passion Jim felt the water from the shower start to cool. Not wanting to dampen anyone's ardor with a cold dousing, he quickly turned the water off. Returning his attention to the man in front of him, Jim continued to nudge forward with his hips. They were only small movements, but in this position he was deep inside his lover and didn't want to do any damage. His arm tightened around Blair's waist and he braced himself against the wall with the other hand. This gave him enough leverage to hoist Blair up, bring him to tiptoes and allowed him room to withdraw his cock ever so slightly and drive back into his lover's body. Blair took it all, trying hard to push back, or at least provide resistance. Jim felt Blair's muscles contract as he approached orgasm. He pulled back as far as he could and rammed in hard, collapsing on top of the younger man, flattening him against the wall as his own orgasm pulsed through his cock, filling his lover with hot thick semen. 

"Where did that come from?" Blair managed to get out. 

"Somewhere down here," Jim replied, thrusting forward with his hips again before his cock completely softened. 

"You are so fucking good," Blair moaned as the residue of his orgasm echoed in his brain, reminded by Jim's last thrust. 

"I know," Jim smirked. 

Separating them, Jim slipped out of the shower. 

"You better get that shampoo out of your hair, Chief, or we're going to be late." 

"You can tell Simon why we're late, man. It wasn't me who prolonged the shower," Blair retorted, smiling, hand on hips. 

"I can hear it now," Jim mused as he moved to the sink and picked up his razor. "Sorry Captain Banks, sir, Blair had to wash his hair." 

"Ha, ha, very funny," Blair responded and hit the shower's on button. 

Jim laughed out loud as the shrieks told him just how cold the water had become. 

* * *

The two men arrived in the bullpen a few minutes after one PM. They had stopped for coffee on the way, Blair grabbing a bagel and cream cheese with a dill pickle on the side and Jim sneaking a butter cream donut, explaining at Blair's accusing look that he needed to keep up his energy levels. Blair had snorted, but had let him eat the donut. In the truck Jim had licked the sugar off his fingers before putting the key in the ignition and starting the engine. Blair had muttered under his breath, knowing his sentinel could hear, while unpacking his brunch. 

"Cholesterol, arteries, heart attack." 

"You're a fine one to talk, Chief. Are you telling me that counts as a vegetable?" 

Blair bit into the green pickle, juice dripping down his chin. "Ummmm," Blair groaned, theatrically pushing the pickle in and out of his mouth, his eyes sparkling. 

"Hey I resent that, I am not green and I am not knobbly," Jim protested. 

Laughter caused Blair to choke. He put the pickle back with the bagel as Jim thumped him on the back, himself laughing. 

"Serves you right, Chief." 

Blair kept on laughing, as he wiped tears from his eyes and coughed again to clear his throat. 

* * *

The bullpen was full and every head turned as the two men came in. Blair's raised voice caught a lull in the conversation and everyone heard him say with indignation, "I do not squeal like a pig." 

He blushed and realized the words meant for Jim had been overheard. Jim, on the other hand, didn't miss a beat. He strode to his desk, slipped off his jacket and, in explanation stated simply, "The kid ran out of hot water in the shower again." 

Knowing heads nodded and returned to their work unperturbed by Sandburg's antics. Blair stood, arms at his side, as if in disbelief, momentarily silenced when a familiar call rang out. 

"Ellison, Sandburg, my office now." 

Jim stood, looked at his partner, smiled and pointed at Simon's office. "The Captain wants us, Chief." 

Blair scowled at Jim's back and followed him into the office, shutting the door behind him. He wasn't quick enough not to hear the chuckles from some of his fellow detectives. 

* * *

A good dinner, excellent wine and a beautiful companion had done much to improve Peter Shaw's mood. The woman had the good grace to leave his bed in the small hours, avoiding those embarrassing first moments in the morning, and he woke to brilliant sunshine invading his hotel room. Stepping from the shower, he turned on the twentyfour -hour weather channel. Only in America, he thought, could there be a TV channel devoted entirely to the weather; and the English thought they had the monopoly on such mundane matters. 

He never ate breakfast, so he sat in the hotel restaurant sipping freshly-squeezed orange juice. The Americans might make the best coffee in the world, but they couldn't make a decent cup of tea to save their lives. On trips to the good old U S of A, he restricted himself to cold drinks, disliking intensely even the smell of coffee, let alone the taste. The gift shop next to the restaurant had been sufficiently well stocked that he had been able to buy two decent maps covering the areas of the Cascade Mountains that he thought most likely he would visit that day. His finger followed a road high into one particular range, when a pleasant voice interrupted his solitude. 

"Going hiking?" 

The young woman was obviously of Hispanic origins and pleasant to look at, in a plain sort of way, thought Shaw. He decided to reply. 

"Yes. I am only here for a couple of days, so I thought I'd see as much as I could whilst I'm here." 

The woman looked at him quizzically, "You're not from around here are you?" 

Inside Shaw sighed in frustration. The Americans were masters of the understatement. 

"No, I'm visiting from England." 

He had been tempted to tell her he was a famous neurosurgeon from Switzerland here to perform life-saving surgery, but he knew he would only be dragged into more conversation and he was becoming quickly bored with the little they had already had. There was no doubt the woman would have believed him. Americans were so gullible and their heightened isolation since 9/11 meant that they could rarely tell an English accent from a German one, or a Swiss one. 

"I just love your accent." The girl smiled and walked on to the next table to top up coffee cups for a young family. 

* * *

Deciding on his route for that day, Shaw next needed to acquire a weapon for his practice. In America everything was possible, and the purchase of a sniper rifle was a lot easier than most people would imagine. If he had gone to a store and bought a handgun he would not have had to get any prior license or undergo any training. If he bought a rifle legitimately he would only have to get through a federally-imposed NICS check and, he knew in many states, federal records were neither complete nor up to date. However, Shaw had no intention of leaving any sort of paper trail. He had ID's that were American, that would have allowed him to buy a rifle legitimately in Washington State, but this was going to be a disposable item, a quick private purchase which would be abandoned just as swiftly. It would be a little more complicated, but private sales and purchases of guns were almost completely unregulated and no records of any kind were required by law, state or federal. It only took two phone calls to locate the store he wanted. Information was one of the most important tools of his trade; and he had contacts all over the world that could get him almost any weapon he wanted, and a lot more besides. 

He had chosen a top-of-the-line rental car, not just because he could or because he enjoyed the luxury, but because the little extras like satellite navigation meant he didn't have to ask questions of curious people. Curious people were also garrulous people, and it was no coincidence that those with the best memories liked to talk a lot. He input the zip code for his destination into the GPS device and was making his way through the streets of Cascade, accompanied by a female American voice that guided him accurately to Walt's Weapons Emporium. Walt, if indeed it was him, sat on a high stool behind the counter talking to a small man dressed in jeans, a jacket and, incongruously, clean and bright Converse All Stars. As Shaw walked in, Walt left his companion and bellied up to the counter, a smile plastered over his face. 

"What can I do for you?" 

Shaw looked around. Handguns of all shapes, makes and styles decorated the walls of the store. To the left of the counter was a door exiting to the range, from where the sound of firing could be heard. Behind Shaw, racks of every kind of accessory even remotely related to weapons filled shelf after shelf. It was staggering for someone from England to see so much hardware so visibly available. Most Englishmen went through their entire lives not seeing a weapon of any kind other than on TV or at the movies. The cultural divide was enormous. 

"I'd like to make a private purchase," Shaw said quietly, not liking the look that the smaller man with the strange shoes was giving him. Walt moved his customer further along the counter and placed a large photo album type book on the top. 

"You understand that I don't make any of these sales on my own behalf, I act only as agent. I can't guarantee any of the items and there's no warrantee. What you see is what you get." 

Shaw nodded and turned the pages. Eventually he found something he thought would be suitable. "I'd like to see number ninety-seven, please." 

Walt disappeared through a door to the right marked 'Private No Entrance'. He returned minutes later carrying a Dragonov. Shaw carried out a silent cursory inspection. He didn't want to appear too professional. For all of Walt's homespun, good old boy air, the man knew his weapons and would know if Shaw showed too much of an interest in the minutiae of the inner workings of the rifle. 

"How much?" he asked. 

Walt quoted a figure. It was reasonable, thought Shaw, but knew a certain amount of haggling would be expected. They eventually agreed on a price which included a shoulder bag to carry the rifle, a Burris scope and fifty rounds. More than Shaw needed, but the sort of amount a hunter would take. A credit card with a false name, but with a genuine account, completed the transaction quickly. Leaving the store, his purchases complete, he noticed Walt back on the high stool deep in conversation with the small man. Shaw made one more stop to pick up water and some sandwiches and then headed out of Cascade. 

* * *

Waking early as always, Benny Ray first checked for his weapon. The Sig Sauer always rested by his right hand when he slept. It was still there. Life as a mercenary, a soldier of fortune, was for the most part a much safer job than most people would believe, but Benny Ray was a very cautious man. Whenever the team took on a job they worked all the angles, minimized the risks and gave themselves every edge. Planning was everything. The team was led by Major Matt Shepherd, former pilot and Delta Force member; a soldier's soldier who had retired to avoid being court-martialed after he had returned behind enemy lines against direct orders to retrieve the body of a fallen comrade. Matt Shepherd lived by high ideals, not the least of them being 'everyone comes home'. Recently there had been changes in the team. Two members, CJ and Chance, had retired to Hawaii, intent on leading the quiet life. They had been replaced by a mismatched duo, Nick Delvecchio and Deacon 'Deke' Reynolds. Delvecchio was an annoying New Yorker; well, he annoyed the hell out of Benny Ray. Having spent years undercover for the DEA, Nick had finally resigned, burned out, only to meet Matt Shepherd in circumstances more than a little contrived. Deke Reynolds was the very opposite of undercover. Six foot eight inches tall, dyed hair and with most available pieces of skin pierced or tattooed, the black man had been a chopper pilot in Desert Storm, who, having rebelled against the rigors of military life, left the armed forces and found he had the knack for making contacts; contacts who could get anything, anywhere, anytime, and who had been invaluable to Benny Ray in tracing the man who had shot the woman he loved. 

Margo Vincent, Romanian by birth with the gift of linguistics, had been recruited by the CIA and worked as a case officer in Western Germany. She had left the Agency to start a new career in freelance arms dealing, and it was from that career that Matt Shepherd had liberated her as a critical member of his team. And now she was lying in a hospital bed fighting for her life, the victim of a sniper's bullet. Benny Ray had fought side by side with Margo for over a year, traveling from downright aversion through grudging admiration to unrequited love. He had never told Margo of his feelings; emotions were something that had no place in the type of work they did. Soldiering was a selfish mistress and a man was better off not worrying about loved ones at home or by his side. There were times, in the quiet moments, when Benny Ray believed Margo knew how he felt, but as a Southern boy raised in the trailer parks near the train tracks of Auburn, Alabama, words didn't come easy to him, especially words of love. 

Love was the furthest thing from Benny Ray's mind now. He wanted revenge, and for that he wanted Peter Shaw. Since the assassination two weeks ago, he had tracked this man from one end of the country into Canada and back again across the border. Matt, Nick and Deke had stayed in LA, partly to guard Margo, partly to be by her side, but mainly because they didn't believe the trail Benny Ray was following was legitimate. Over the past few days Benny Ray had started to doubt himself. In the dark, in the wee small hours, when he was sleeping in another strange motel or driving on another indistinguishable highway leading into the distance, he had asked himself if he was right. But by the time the sun had risen, or after he had eaten just enough to give him energy or slept just enough to keep him going for the next few hours, his resolve had hardened and he trusted his senses again. 

Benny Ray was the consummate professional soldier. A former Marine, he had graduated from MCRDC sniper school, BUD/S and SEAL training before establishing himself as a firearms expert and the owner of a lethal pair of hands. Now he used all those skills to fight the good fight, to take on the most volatile and dangerous secret missions. When all other options failed, the government called on this motley group of highly-trained covert operatives. He had been to Washington State before. He had family in Seattle; his ex-wife and their children now lived there. Maybe when all this was over and Shaw had been dispatched with terminal prejudice, he would take time out to visit the kids; he rarely got the chance at other times. But only if Margo was out of danger. Once he knew that, he could rest easy. He had never been to Cascade before and knew no one in the city, but he knew a man who would. 

After a quick shower and perfunctory breakfast, Benny Ray made a call. 

"Deke. Benny Ray." 

"Hey man, how's it hanging?" 

"Deke, I need someone in Cascade, Washington State, that's reliable and has the inside track." 

"Cascade? Not exactly on the beaten track, man, but give me five. I'll get back to you." 

Benny Ray hung up, knowing the tall black man expected no salutation. While he waited for the call back Benny Ray checked his weapon. Having once boasted he could field strip an MP5 with his tongue, checking and cleaning his Sig Sauer was a stroll in the park, but it was part of the routine that kept him alive and kept him sharp. He had just finished as his cell phone rang. 

"Deke, what've you got for me?" 

"An old friend of mine. If anyone knows what is going on, he will." 

"Describe him." 

"Don't worry, he'll find you. I've told him what shoes you wear." 

Noting a name and a time, Benny Ray was left staring at his cell phone as Deke disconnected. 

"My shoes?" he wondered aloud. 

* * *

Shaw's journey into the wilderness had been quick and uninterrupted. He knew that after he parked he would have to hike about five miles before hopefully reaching sufficient isolation to allow him to practice in private. The car-park was fairly full. He remained in his car to eat his sandwiches and drink one of the bottles of water previously purchased. After knocking crumbs off his jacket, he visited the ubiquitous restrooms and then packed up a small backpack which settled between his shoulder blades. The rifle, in its canvas case, fitted comfortably across one shoulder. He started walking, setting a steady pace, wanting to reach his preset spot just after lunchtime, so he would have most of the afternoon to shoot. He stayed on the main trail for the first mile, grateful for the sun on his back. 

* * *

When Benny Ray walked into Denny's he waited to be seated and then ordered coffee. He didn't want lunch yet, so he opened the local paper he had taken out of the box in front of the restaurant. The front page was carrying the story of local law enforcement's latest success in the fight against drugs. A small photo of a man in a tux was captioned with the name Detective James Ellison, former Cop of the Year. As he finished reading, Benny Ray nodded. It was nice to know the good guys were winning for once. As he turned the page he watched a small man slip into the seat opposite him. Benny Ray allowed the paper to drop forward and he looked over the top at the man who seemed to be staring at the floor. 

"Can I help you?" Benny Ray's words dripped threat rather than welcome. 

The man looked up, startled. He paled slightly under Benny Ray's unrelenting gaze. "Deke told me you needed a little help." 

The man was sweating and Benny Ray was slightly disconcerted by his constant glimpses under the table. 

"You're Deke's contact?" There was disbelief in his voice. 

"Yeah; we go way back. 'Course his feet are too big for me, but the man appreciates the obsession, you know?" 

"No," Benny Ray said darkly, thinking maybe for once Deke's contact was going to be a washout. 

A silence settled between them until Benny Ray reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. With it came a photograph, which he placed on the table face up and slid across the table towards the other man. 

"I need to find this man. His name is Peter Shaw, but he could be using any name." 

The small man rested back in the seat, smiling. "How much?" he asked. 

"Give me a location and it's worth a hundred." 

Benny Ray knew it was worth a lot more than that but, notwithstanding that this man was a friend of Deacon Reynolds, he couldn't afford to pay what this information was really worth. Besides, it would alert this man to the importance of the information he had. 

"Deke told me to give you a good deal, but with boots like that ..." The man took one more glimpse under the table, "one hundred and fifty dollars and you keep the footwear." 

"Give me what you've got." Benny Ray nodded in agreement at the price. 

"I saw him this morning buying a rifle, said he was going hunting." 

"Where?" 

The small man shrugged. "He didn't say." 

"What did he buy?" 

The details were reeled off succinctly. Benny Ray pondered for a moment marshalling his thoughts. 

"Address?" he snapped not looking at the man opposite him. 

"Cascade Hilton, room two-fourteen." 

"Anything else?" 

"Nope." 

Benny Ray took three notes from his wallet and handed them over. "Thanks for your help." 

"Tell Deke hi from me and if I were you I'd talk to him about those." The small man pointed at Benny Ray's boots. 

Examining them himself, Benny Ray looked up confused. "What's wrong with them?" 

"Straight, man, just too straight." 

Benny Ray shrugged as he threw enough money onto the table to cover the coffee and a tip. His boots were just fine. 

* * *

Sneaks made his way quickly down the street. There was an IHOP two blocks away. It served an all day breakfast and had a pay phone. The information he had just learnt from the intense man with the gentle southern drawl would prove to be a very valuable asset. Who knew today was going to be quite so profitable, he thought to himself. 

* * *

The DA had dragged them through the events of the entire night until Blair felt like he was reliving the whole thing under a microscope. Painstaking and boring as it was, Blair used the experience to review his previous conclusions, the ones he and Jim had thrashed out. Nothing of the experience of the previous evening, either on the job or in the loft, changed his mind; there was a threat looming, something bigger than they had faced before. No, the thought came to him, not bigger, different. Blair closed his eyes and evened his breathing. He could almost feel Jim watching him, concerned. Just keep the DA off my back for a few minutes Jim, he pleaded silently. Thoughts and images whirled around him, but he sat quietly in the centre, a calm undisturbed by the vortex. At the edge of his perception something lurked; unnamed, unidentified. It was malevolently evil, it was determined, thorough, methodical; strange words to associate with such a great threat. Relentless, that was the emotion he was feeling now; cold-hearted, surgical, relentless. 

As he opened his eyes and looked straight at his partner he knew he had part of the puzzle. Whoever the tiger was, he was there to do a job neither he nor Jim could do. He nodded slightly to Jim, who looked relieved at Blair's re-emergence. They patiently waited while the DA finished and then took the elevator back up to Major Crime. 

"Are you sure about this, Blair?" Jim asked. 

He nodded. "It fits all the facts that we currently have, which are admittedly pretty thin on the ground, but yeah, I'm pretty sure. Being okay with it is another matter completely." 

The two men sat down behind their respective desks. Jim leaned in towards his partner. "So you're saying that the tiger is here to do a specific job that neither you nor I can do?" 

Blair nodded again. 

"And you think he is here to kill?" 

"The tiger is an animal uniquely predisposed to kill. In the wild." 

* * *

"I don't know, Blair, it seems a real reach to me. Doesn't it make more sense ..." That was a joke thought Jim; there wasn't much that made sense at all about this, and for crying out loud it was a dream, just a dream. For all they knew, it could have been something they had both eaten. "... that this guy has some special skill like defusing bombs or having the cure to some horrible disease that's about to break out?" 

Blair shrugged. He really didn't know, and what had felt so certain a few minutes earlier was now collapsing under the weight of his partner's doubts. 

"Hell, Chief, given that one of the greatest threats of our time is obesity, maybe this guy has the recipe for a fat-free Wonder burger." 

Blair smiled at that and had a retort prepared when another voice intruded. 

"Can anyone join in this mother's meeting or is it just for my detectives?" 

Blair noted the emphasis on the final word. 

"Sorry, Simon, but we only just got back from the DA," Jim explained. 

"How did it go?" Simon asked. 

The phone on Jim's desk chose that moment to ring. As Jim answered it Blair continued talking to Simon. 

"He's thorough; I'll say that for the man." 

"With Hudson and Guittierez and both their crews locked up I expect everyone to be thorough, Detective, which is why you two are going to double check all your paperwork from the bust yesterday. I do not want anything coming up to bite us in the ass at the trial. Do I make myself clear?" 

Blair knew exactly what Simon meant. He wanted no sentinel loose ends. "Yes, sir." 

Jim was standing, reaching for his jacket. 

"Sorry, sir, that was Sneaks. He wants to meet us, says he has something for us." 

"Can't it wait, Jim?" Simon was not happy. 

"No, sir, but as soon as we get back we'll go through those papers, dot the i's and cross the t's," Jim offered. 

"Make sure you do, Detective." Simon stalked off. 

Blair took his jacket from Jim's hands. "What has Sneaks got?" 

"He wouldn't say, just told me we'd find it interesting." 

As they waited for the elevator they both looked down. 

"Erm, Jim, I need to change my shoes." 

"No time for that, Chief, we have to get back here or Simon will put out an APB on us." 

"But Jim I like these Reeboks. I only bought them a couple of weeks ago. They're practically brand new." Blair was not happy at losing more shoes to Jim's snitch. "I have an old pair in my locker." 

The doors to the elevator opened and Jim stepped inside. Blair stayed still. 

"I'll meet you in the truck." He took off running. 

* * *

Benny Ray had returned to his own motel and changed before going to the Cascade Hilton. He knew the importance of not standing out. Things could get complicated if some eagle-eyed concierge thought he was a disreputable freeloader. If he was spotted, he wouldn't get past the front desk. Benny Ray had learned a lot over the last twelve months or so since he had hooked up with the Major. Subtlety was definitely one of those things, though he would never admit it. In fact, he rarely let anyone see the real Benny Ray. A few times he had felt close enough to Margo to open up, but that was before she had been shot, before she had ended up lying in a hospital bed on a ventilator. Now Benny Ray was shut down, the cold efficient soldier he had always been and he was on a mission to get the bastard who had done that to Margo. 

Taking a deep breath and relaxing his face into a slight smile, he walked through the revolving doors of the Cascade Hilton as though he belonged there. He quickly established the location of the elevators and angled his walk towards them. The ride was smooth and the doors opened and closed almost silently. The carpet was thick and Benny Ray made his way to room two-fourteen. No one answered his knock. He took his hand off the Sig Sauer in its holster under his arm. Checking both ends of the corridor for a maid, he sighed when he realized there was no one around. Charm was something all Southern boys had. Combine that with good looks and a winning smile and Benny Ray could sweet talk a maid into opening her legs, let alone a locked hotel room door. 

He would have to resort to Plan B. While Benny Ray had learned much from Matt Shepherd and his team, the army had taught him even more. They had taught him how to shoot accurately, how to kill silently and how to wait for a kill. Patience was one of the main tools in a sniper's arsenal. Most times he had to wait for hours for a target. Once he had stayed in his hide for two days before making a kill. He could wait for Shaw and the best place for that was in the lobby. He could be unobtrusive and patient; it was amazing what impetus revenge gave you. 

He read the paper, drank coffee and checked out the gift shop. The normal toing and froing of a busy city centre hotel passed before him. All human life exposed itself, from children having tantrums to adulterers and their mistresses, to rich elderly couples trying to recapture their youth. Every color and hue in between these extremes paraded before him. He waited, he saw, he recorded and catalogued and dismissed. Shaw didn't turn up and there was nothing else to take his interest until two men walked into the lobby and went up to the front desk. The taller man seemed familiar. He was definitely ex-military; the hair and bearing told him that. The smaller man was another matter altogether. As Benny Ray watched the two men cross the foyer, he noticed the smaller one constantly talking. He used his hands to express himself. Now at the front desk the hands were still waving around. It reminded Benny Ray of Nick Delvecchio. He shuddered; surely there was only one Delvecchio. The two men went up in the elevator and he filed them away, unable to confirm his memory of the taller man. It might just have been that he recognized the type. Benny Ray filed it under matters to be considered later and continued his vigil. 

* * *

"Do you think Sneaks got it wrong?" Blair asked as they stepped back into the elevator. 

There had been no answer to their knock on the door of room two-fourteen, and without a warrant they could not effect entry. 

"He's never let us down before, Chief. Let's see if we can get any more information from the desk clerk." 

"You know, Jim, I think she liked you." 

"What's not to like?" he teased his partner as the elevator reached the ground floor. 

Without conscious thought Jim's eyes swept through the foyer. Things were much the same as they had been when they had left ten minutes earlier. In fact, one thing was exactly the same, and that raised the hackles on the back of Jim's neck; a man sat in the chairs of the bar area. Although the bar was closed, many of the hotel's clientele used the seats as a convenient place to stop and drink the tea and coffee offered by the hotel restaurant. Half a dozen people sitting in various groupings had been present when they first arrived. Of those, five had now finished their drinks, drunk more of their drinks or started on their coffee. One had the same coffee cup and cafetierre on the table in front of him, the same level of coffee in the jug and mug as when Jim had first spotted him. The man was reading the local paper and he was actually reading it or at least turning the pages. He wasn't looking at either of them, but he was watching them. He's good, thought Jim. The man lifted the cafetierre and filled his mug. Enjoy the coffee, Jim said to himself, it's cold. 

The two detectives reached the front desk. Jim showed his badge to a different beautiful young woman from the one who had told them the name of the man in room twofourteen: Peter Allyson from Minnesota. On the way up to the room Jim had called into the office and asked Rhonda to run a check on the name. The answer had not come back yet. 

"Hi, Debbie." Blair bestowed one of his winning smiles on the blonde. Dead plants had been known to revive spontaneously after bathing in the afterglow of that smile. "This is Detective Ellison, I'm Detective Sandburg. We spoke to Julie earlier about Mr. Allyson in two-fourteen." 

Debbie seemed to find something that needed her undivided attention in Blair's eyes. She stared longingly. "How can I help you?" she asked meaningfully. 

Jim heard the emphasis on all the wrong words. Blair's smile got brighter. Blair had this woman eating out of his hand. Jim turned sideways to the front desk, resting his arm on the polished surface. As he glanced around the foyer, feigning nonchalance, his eyes met the eyes of the stranger for a fleeting moment. Steady, gray-blue, intense, challenging. By his side Debbie giggled, but she was already bringing up Allyson's records on the computer. Blair was asking for a printout. Jim walked across the foyer, almost feeling Blair's bemused look at his back. He went through the revolving doors and stepped to the right, waiting in the shade of the portico. Blair came out a couple of moments later clutching the printout. 

"The address is probably a fake, but I have one and a license plate. I'll get Rhonda to put out an APB." 

Blair walked on into the afternoon sunshine, unaware that Jim had not moved. As he turned to look back his mouth open to ask a question, Jim put his finger to his lips, quieting his partner. The stranger strode out of the hotel and immediately stopped as he spotted the two men. Jim saw a solid, strong man younger than himself, but older than Blair; shorter than he was, but taller than Blair. They stood in a loose triangle, each watching the other. The stranger's hair was short, not quite a buzz cut, and his face was serious, but good looking in a stern way. Blair broke the impasse. 

"Hi, I'm Detective Sandburg and this is my partner, Detective Ellison. Can we help you?" 

The man flicked his eyes between both detectives, finally resting them on Jim. "Riddle, Benny Ray Riddle." 

The name rang a bell, but Jim was unable to place it. The accent was southern, a drawl, but not strong. The stranger said no more, but moved in close to Jim, putting out his right hand in greeting. 

"Ellison," he nodded, shaking hands. 

Blair moved back towards Jim's side. As he did, Benny Ray moved, stepping sideways and sliding across behind him. Sandburg almost spun around to face the stranger, his discomfort at having the man so close behind him obvious on his face. 

"Sandburg," the stranger drawled and once again offered his hand. The two men held on for a split second too long. Blair narrowed his eyes and looked as if he was going to speak, when Riddle turned and walked away. He disappeared into the underground parking lot entrance. Jim walked to the truck which was parked in front of the hotel. He acknowledged the doorman, who had tried to stop him parking there when they arrived, with a nod. 

"That was odd," Jim understated as he pulled out into traffic. 

Blair was quiet, staring out of the windshield. Minutes passed as they made their way through the afternoon traffic. He finally spoke as they waited at a stop sign a block from the station. "It was him." It was a firm statement. 

"Are you sure?" Jim asked, knowing the answer to the question. 

Blair nodded as they caught a break in the traffic. Jim signaled to turn into the parking garage. "It was the same feeling of ambiguity as the dream," Blair explained. 

"That's an odd choice of words, Chief." 

Blair climbed out of the truck and joined Jim on the walk to the elevator. "I don't feel as though he's a threat, but I'm uncomfortable in his presence. I can't explain it any more than that." 

They reached the elevator. "What about you? What do you get from him?" Blair asked. 

They were halfway up to Major Crime when Jim punched the emergency stop. He turned to Blair and put his hands on the smaller man's shoulders. "It felt comfortable, like someone I could rely on. Not a threat, you're right there, but there was something else." Jim paused, marshalling his thoughts. "Like a coiled spring, tight, in control, but if you let it go be prepared to stand out of its way." 

"I don't think he knows," Blair went on as Jim's hands stroked his arms in reassurance. 

"He's knows we're police and I'd say he knows we're both after the same man." Jim saw a look of disbelief cross Blair's face. "You think it was coincidence, Chief, that we were both at that hotel? I'd say he found Allyson the same way we did, good old-fashioned police work." 

"Is he on the force?" 

"Maybe," Jim mused. "Maybe not." Jim leaned forward to catch a sweet brief kiss. "Are you okay with this?" he asked seriously. 

Blair nodded, "I trust your instincts." 

"What about your own?" 

"I'll reserve judgment for the time being." 

Jim hit the stop button again and the elevator shuddered its way up. Blair steadied himself on the solidity of Jim's chest. 

* * *

It didn't take long to establish that Allyson was a false name, as was the address in Minnesota. The license plate was genuine and had been rented from the Alamo at the airport. Allyson had paid by credit card. American Express were prepared to confirm there was an account, but refused to release any more information without a warrant. Jim put out an APB on the car while Blair typed Benny Ray Riddle into the search window on his computer. He whistled to himself when the results came back. 

"What is it, Chief?" Jim asked. 

"Listen to this, man." Blair proceeded to read an abbreviated version of what appeared on his screen. "Entered the Marines at seventeen ... one of nine children ... father dead ... MRDDC Sniper School, BUD/S and SEAL training ... Court-martialed after refusing to take orders from a UN Task Force Officer in 'ninety-five." 

Then what?" Jim asked. 

"Nothing." Blair turned around and looked at his partner. 

"Nothing?" Jim repeated. 

"There is a current address in L.A., but it's like he fell off the face of the earth after 'ninety-five." 

"No one disappears, Chief, unless they want to or someone makes them." 

"What are you thinking? CIA, NSA?" 

"No," Jim pondered. "Not sneaky enough." 

Blair raised an eyebrow in question. 

"Think Brackett," Jim explained. 

"Oh yeah, right. So what then?" 

"My guess? Black ops. Either private or government-funded." 

"A mercenary?" Blair asked surprised. 

"That would be my call," Jim stated. 

"Why?" Blair wanted to know. 

"His military experience, those missing years and I've come across enough of these guys to know what they feel like." 

Blair leaned back, rubbing his hands over his eyes. "Okay, let's go through this logically. We have a man claiming to be from Minnesota calling himself Peter Allyson. He arrived in Cascade yesterday, stays at the Hilton. Today he buys a Dragonov rifle and fifty rounds. The name is phony, so is the address, but the credit card account is genuine. We don't know who he is, where he comes from or what he's doing here." 

"You don't know much Sandburg." 

Blair looked up at his captain. "No sir." 

"Don't forget Riddle," Jim added. 

As if that's possible, thought Blair. 

"Who's Riddle?" Simon asked. 

Blair moved the flat panel screen of his computer so that Simon could read about the man. 

"He was at the Hilton," Blair enlarged. 

"Why was he there?" 

"Another thing we don't know. Jim thinks he was there for Allyson." 

"This is going round in circles gentlemen, and meanwhile there are real criminals out there with real names and addresses committing real crimes. I suggest you give them some of your attention." Banks said in his best captain's voice. 

"Simon," Blair objected. 

"Now, detectives." 

The conversation was at an end. Blair swung the monitor back to its rightful place with undisguised discontent. 

"Let's face it, Chief, there's not too much more we can do anyway unless the APB shakes something loose." Jim was conciliatory, but Blair wasn't fooled. 

"Not too much? 

Jim smiled and picked up the phone. "I need to speak to a man about a trophy, Chief." Jim smiled innocently as Blair printed out the search results and slipped the paperwork into a new file that held only one other piece of paper. 

Jim's phone call was only partially successful. As he listened, Blair saw him jot down another telephone number. He wanted to listen to that second phone call, but his own phone rang. It was Dan Wolfe asking for his attendance at the morgue. 

* * *

He and Dan became locked in a discussion on some post mortem injuries to a murder victim in a case he and Jim were working. Jim appeared at the door with his jacket on and Blair's jacket in his hand. 

"Let's go, Chief, we have a call on the APB." 

"Where?" Blair asked as they took the stairs to avoid waiting for the elevator. 

"Davis Point." 

Blair slowed down, putting a restraining hand on Jim's arm. "Jim, if Allyson is going hunting we have no reason to go after him." 

Jim stopped, turned and looked at Blair. 

"Except the dream," Blair finished quietly. 

Jim nodded. 

"Simon is going to kill us for running off after Allyson," Blair chuckled as he started down the steps again, this time at a trot. 

"Don't worry, Chief, I'll protect you." Jim smiled. 

"My hero," Blair sighed dramatically. 

"And don't you forget it, Chief," Jim laughed. 

* * *

Davis Point was a well-known area for hunters and, although Jim had never been there, he knew the way well enough. In the years since he had been able to drive himself and had a car, he had visited all of the national parks around Cascade. Whether camping on his own, with family or friends, he loved the solitude the mountains gave him. There was a real sense of connection too. In the last few years he had wondered if that connection was part of his sentinel abilities. He was sure the solitude and quiet had been a respite for his senses even when he wasn't aware of them; before he was stranded in Peru and after he shut them down following the trauma of Bud's death. The connection with the awe and majesty of nature was another matter altogether. Nature wasn't a respite to Jim; it was something deeper, more basic, a sense of belonging, of coming home. There were times when he believed that a cabin in the mountains with his lover beside him as the most perfect thing he could think of, especially if they were doing what Jim now envisaged them doing. Jim smiled at the thoughts. 

"Jim." 

His lover's voice interrupted his thoughts. 

"Yeah, Chief." 

"What happened with your phone call?" 

"When Riddle introduced himself I thought I recognized his name. It took me three calls but I finally tracked it down." 

"What?" Blair demanded. "Come on, man, give me the good skinny." He was smiling 

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Good skinny, Chief? Who have you been talking to?" 

"The new guy in Vice." 

"Isn't he from L.A.?" 

"Yep." 

"That explains a lot." 

"The phone call, Jim, the phone call." 

"Riddle has his name on a trophy." 

"If it's a trophy for evading answering the question, then I guess his name is just below yours," Blair retorted. 

Jim laughed. "Second highest score ever at the Scout Sniper School at Quantico. He scored eighteen-fifty." Jim was seriously impressed. 

"Who was highest?" 

"Not me, Sandburg, if that's what you're thinking." 

Jim saw the surprise on his partner's face. "I didn't have my enhanced senses then, Chief. As a mere mortal I wouldn't have got anywhere near Riddle's score." 

There was a pause in the conversation as they turned off the interstate and made their way up to Davis Point. 

"Do you think he has any enhanced senses?" 

From the look on Blair's face, Jim knew the thought had already occurred to him. 

"White Bengal tigers in the wild have enhanced vision and hearing and a powerful sense of smell. They can travel at up to thirty-five miles an hour over short distances and have been known to travel twenty to thirty feet in a single leap when attacking prey. They are solitary silent hunters with incredible patience. One of the sites I visited described them as 'silent killers'. They can climb trees and unlike most big cats, they like water and can swim long distances." 

Jim listened quietly, wondering when Blair had found an opportunity to look all this up. 

"The perfect killer," Jim stated. 

Blair just nodded. Jim's cell phone rang. They were barely still in range. The mountains would soon rob them of any signal. 

"Ellison." 

"Detective." It was Simon. "Would you care to tell me where you and your partner are at the moment and why you aren't at your desk?" 

Jim sighed. "The APB got us a hit on Allyson's car." 

Hearing the long suffering sigh, Jim grimaced at the man sitting next to him. With any luck they would be out of signal before Simon ordered them to return. 

"Jim, what's going on here? Why are you chasing this guy all over Cascade? As far as we know he hasn't even committed any crime." 

Suddenly it was important for Jim to make his captain and friend understand. 

"Simon, I know you won't be happy when I tell you this is a sentinel thing, but this is important. I can't tell you why or how, but it is." That's pretty lame, Jim thought to himself. 

"Is Blair behind you on this one?" 

Jim looked over at his partner seeking confirmation in his gaze. "He is," Jim said simply. 

"Okay, but keep me informed. Don't go running off without telling me. I can only give you so much leeway, Jim." 

"Understood, sir, and thanks." 

"Don't let me down, Jim." 

Jim shut off the call. "Simon has given us his conditional support." 

"He's a very perceptive man." 

Jim chuckled, "That's not what you said last week." 

Blair smiled. 

* * *

The Park Ranger who had called in the report in response to the APB met the two detectives at the rest stop and quickly directed them to the car. They couldn't open the vehicle without probable cause and there was nothing to be seen inside. Jim looked around. There were very few people around, and the chances that any of those few had seen Allyson was extremely remote. They had to make a decision. As Jim saw it, they could wait for Allyson to come back to his vehicle, or they could head out and try to find him. Or they could go back to Cascade. Jim dismissed the third option quickly. Turning to his partner to seek his advice, the words never made it past his throat. Blair was staring up at the mountain, his eyes focused far away. Jim followed his line of sight. He couldn't see anything. 

"He's here," Blair stated. 

"Allyson?" Jim asked. 

Blair took a deep breath and turned to Jim, smiling, "No, Riddle." 

"You can feel him?" Jim asked, feeling something akin to jealousy that Blair could somehow sense this man. 

Blair shook his head. "In the dream, when he walked behind me I felt this vague danger. I feel the same thing now." 

"Is Riddle the threat then?" Jim wondered if they had been getting this wrong all along. 

"No, he's a dangerous man, I won't deny that, but the danger is coming from somewhere else." 

"Let's wait until Allyson comes back to his car?" Jim suggested. 

"If he's camping out it could be a long wait, Jim." 

"I don't think Simon is going to very perceptive if we stay out all night." 

"Let's hope it won't come to that." 

They settled themselves at a picnic bench. Blair brought the two bottles of water out of his backpack and they began the wait. 

* * *

The tiger stalked his prey. He could almost smell his target. The two detectives had made it easy for him. He had waited for them to leave police headquarters, knowing that he had depleted his own limited resources and now was the time to rely on others. He did it when he worked with his own team and, although he didn't know these two men, what he had found out about them told him he could trust them. He trusted his own instincts. You didn't survive as long as he had without being prepared to act on instinct. 

The journey from the city center had been difficult. He might have wanted to use these two men as a resource, but that didn't mean he wanted them to know that was what he was doing. It took all of his concentration to keep them in sight, but to stay far enough back so that they wouldn't spot him. There was no reason for the detectives to expect him to follow them, he knew that, but he had learned very early on not to take chances. 

He grew closer and concentrated on his quarry. A shot rang out, followed by a second and then a third. He changed direction and silently moved through the forest. The direction of the wind shifted and he sniffed the air. There was something missing, something he expected to find; blood. His target didn't miss; the tiger knew that all too well, so if he wasn't shooting game, what was he up to? 

The tiger approached the tree line. There was a clearing beyond and his prey was on the other side of the clearing. He pulled out his Sig Sauer P229 and silently chambered a round. Another shot rang out. Watching the explosion of wood splinters, the tiger bared his teeth in a silent growl; target practice. With the blood roaring in his ears he wanted to charge across the clearing and rip the throat from his quarry. The man in him urged caution, but the tiger wanted to kill. The man won out and, panting with the effort of denying his nature, he turned his back on the clearing and moved out silently. 

He would make his way around the clearing and approach his prey from behind. Years of practice allowed him to move without being heard or seen. He used all his skills as he approached. The tiger stopped, suddenly at a loss. His prey had eluded him. He had pinpointed the man's location from the opposite side of the clearing, but now he knew before he reached it that the quarry had flown. An animalistic growl escaped his lips and anger froze his features. Overcoming his momentary lapse the tiger regained his composure and once more began trailing his prey. He was too close now to let this be anything but a temporary setback. 

* * *

Jim and Blair talked while they waited. It was rare they got the chance to be this relaxed while at work. Blair sat with his back towards the rest stop while Jim continually scanned Allyson's car and the trees behind. Their fingers met occasionally, a brief display of their love when others were not present to bear witness. Blair had given Jim the full lecture on the white tiger's hunting habits and Jim explained to Blair what it meant to be a modern day sniper in this man's army. By the time they had finished both men had a better idea of the capabilities of their new ally. 

The sun went down earlier in the mountains and the temperatures dropped quickly. Cars were leaving as dusk approached, but there was no sign of the man they were after. The park ranger pulled up in his jeep. 

"Detective Ellison, you asked me to let you know of any reports that came in this afternoon." The young man was quite nervous. 

"Go on," Jim ordered. 

"We've had a report of a carjacking a mile from here on one of the back roads. The description of the carjacker is vague, one man is dead and his wife is in shock, but from what she's been able to tell us it could be your man." 

Jim and Blair were up and moving to the truck. "We'll follow you," Jim shouted to the young man. 

The two vehicles reached their destination quickly. It was a grisly scene, lent a garish hue by the red and blue rotating lights of the ambulance. A stretcher was being loaded into the back. Blair went straight to the ambulance. Jim went to the crime scene. The headlights of a patrol car exposed the body to harsh examination. A highway patrol officer was standing a few feet from the body. Jim showed his badge as he reached the patrolman's side. His face was pale and sweating. Not surprising, thought Jim. What was left of the man on the ground was not a pretty sight. Half the head was blown away. There was nothing Jim could do there, so he turned to the patrolman. "Did you get anything?" 

The man swallowed hard and dragged his eyes away from the corpse. "The vehicle is a red Dodge Dually with Washington plates. I've already radioed it in, detective." 

Jim was impressed. The officer in front of him might be young and horrified by the sight he had discovered, but he had enough about him to still do his job. "Well done, son. Let me know the minute you hear anything." 

"Yes, sir." The young man's shoulders were bolstered by the praise. 

Jim made his way back to Blair. He waited until Blair got out of the ambulance and pulled his partner to one side to allow the vehicle to make its way carefully through the now numerous parked cars cluttering the road. 

"How is she, Chief?" 

"Not good. It seems the shooter appeared on the road in front of them. He tried to flag them down, but her husband didn't stop. The guy stepped out of the way as they passed and the next thing she knew her husband is slumped forward over the wheel with half his head blown away. They slewed to a halt against the bank over there." 

"How did her husband end up on the road?" 

"The shooter pulled him out. Mrs. Kimbrall had squeezed out between the door and the bank to go help her husband. After the shooter pulled her husband out he just got in the car, reversed and took off down the mountain." 

"Did she ID our man?" Jim asked hopefully. 

"Her description could fit half the men in Cascade. It was pretty vague. She's in shock, Jim. It was a miracle I got that much out of her." 

"If anyone was going to get her to open up it was you, Chief." Jim put his hand on Blair's shoulder. 

"We're no nearer to finding Allyson though." 

"We will, Chief, have a little faith." 

"Isn't that my line, Jim?" Blair chuckled. 

"Listen, Chief there's nothing more we can do here. The local boys have it all well in hand; I say we head home." 

As the gloom deepened Jim watched the condensation of Blair's breath as he spoke. He could feel the reluctance in the man's body. 

"I guess so." 

* * *

Benny Ray Riddle was angry. How could he have been so stupid? He knew that somehow he had spooked his quarry and that was just damn inexcusable, the kind of sloppy work that got people killed. Inspecting the target's resting place, he found the telltale signs of where the man he was hunting had slipped away. Pushing his guilt aside he followed, determined to make up for all his past mistakes. 

* * *

Peter Shaw was rattled. He couldn't believe he had come so close to being caught. Not since Vienna had he let himself get into that situation. Gathering the rifle, his only weapon, and the remaining rounds, he moved away from his nest. The route to his car was blocked by the man hunting him. He had seen the man before through the scope of his rifle after the last job. Fuck, thought Shaw, the bastard must have been tracking him all this time. He started to move more quickly, angling towards a road he knew from his previous inspection of the map was less than a mile away. If he couldn't reach his own car then he would just have to get another. 

* * *

He watched the crime scene grow. He had heard the single shot and guessed it to come from about four hundred yards in front of him. Picking up the pace, Riddle stopped just inside the tree line. A woman knelt over a body, her hands and clothes covered in blood and brains. She had stopped screaming and now rocked silently back and forth. Her pain constricted his heart and choked his throat. He had held Margo in his arms after the shooting, had her blood over his hands, staining the front of his white dress shirt. He shared the woman's exquisite pain. Debating whether to step out and assist, he had taken half a step when a car came to a halt. An elderly couple got out, the woman already using a cell phone, no doubt summoning emergency services. Benny Ray retreated a few yards further back and continued his surveillance. Once Ellison and Sandburg arrived, he left. 

On the walk back to his car, Benny Ray went over the options in his mind. The hotel was a dead end. Shaw would not go back there, that was too big a risk. He would leave Cascade, of that Benny Ray was sure, but how would he leave? Going by plane would get him furthest away the quickest, but traveling through an airport put him at greatest risk of being spotted. That left train, bus or car. Train and bus stations had the same disadvantages as an airport and, like plane journeys, they left a paper trail of tickets and credit cards. Car was by far and away the easiest; you just pointed the car in the direction you wanted to go and put the pedal to the metal. Shaw's big disadvantage with that plan was the visibility of the vehicle he was driving. By now every cop in Cascade would be looking for whatever car he had stolen. Riddle knew that Shaw would need to ditch that car and pick up another one, quietly and without fuss. Shooting car owners was a messy, noisy way of obtaining a vehicle. 

As he had on many occasions over the last two weeks, he put himself in Shaw's shoes. Sniper to sniper, he felt uncomfortably close to the man he was hunting. They were both killers, dishing out death silently and efficiently. Benny Ray knew he couldn't even claim the high moral ground; they both received their thirty pieces of silver, and even knowing that his silver was American tax dollars did nothing to assuage his guilt or wash the blood from his hands. Nor did it ease the memory of every face. The burden of every sniper, the faces. Before every kill you got to look the victim in the eye. Each and every face was burned in Benny Ray's memory. He didn't even know how it was possible to keep that many images in his mind with such clarity. None of them had faded over time. The first was as vivid as the last. He wondered if Shaw saw those faces at night when he couldn't sleep the way Benny Ray did. 

East, Benny Ray decided. If he were Shaw he would head east. That would open most of the US to the bastard. A rush of hopelessness washed through Benny Ray, but he pushed it down before it could overwhelm him. He needed help. He recognized that and he knew with certainty that Ellison and Sandburg would give him that help. Benny Ray was a team player; you had to be to survive in the life he had lived, and sometimes that meant you had to have a little faith, a little blind trust. Belief that the next man in the line had learned his tradecraft in the same thorough fashion you had and practiced it to the same standard, belief that the helo would be there to exfil you from the EZ when it mattered most. He was going to trust these two men, strange as that seemed after such a brief encounter. He recognized Ellison as a sympathetic soul, someone with similar experiences to his own, but Sandburg was weird. He was geeky, a nerd; all that hair and glasses. They had nothing in common, and that disturbed him because he was prepared to trust this man and, in any other circumstances, Benny Ray was sure he would never put his life in the hands of someone like that. 

He reached his car. Switching on the ignition he turned on the lights and headed back to Cascade. He shook his head as he drove, disbelief clear on his face that he trusted this man. "God, what have I let myself in for?" he asked out loud. 

* * *

Chapter Five 

Day Two into Day Three 

It was late by the time they got back to Major Crime. Coming down off the mountain, Jim's cell phone rang. Voice mail had picked up three calls from Simon, all recorded while they had been out of range. The calls had vividly encapsulated Simon's increasing impatience with their absence. Listening to all three messages, Blair had suggested that they head back to the office before they go to the loft. Reluctantly, Jim agreed. He had been looking forward to a shower, and not necessarily alone. 

It was strange to see the office so empty. Simon's office was deserted, but the light was on and a cigar was burning in the ashtray. The two men sat down at the conference table and waited. 

Blair had been quiet on the journey from Davis Point. Jim had concentrated on the drive, allowing his partner time to ponder. The silence continued. Jim didn't like silence. To be honest his life was never silent, not with his hearing, but the silence he hated was the silence of his guide; his ever-talking, ever-moving guide. It left a gap in his existence that nothing filled when Blair was quiet. 

"Coffee?" Jim asked, standing and helping himself to the half-full pot. 

"Yeah," came the distracted reply. 

Jim put the coffee mug down in front of Blair and sat back down again. "Penny for them?" he pushed. 

Blair's blue eyes stared hard at him and he saw a beautiful smile spread across his lover's face. 

"You used to play the drums right?" Blair asked quizzically. 

Jim considered before he answered. "Yes. Why?" 

Blair sipped his coffee, "I've been thinking." 

"Oh, oh!" 

"Ha, ha," Blair said with sarcasm. "I need to go up there, I think." Blair pointed to the ceiling. 

"The eighth floor?" Jim asked, knowing exactly what Blair meant. 

"Jim," Blair warned. 

"Okay," Jim held up his hands in surrender. "But why?" 

"We need some answers. We know too little about what's going on and Simon sounded fit to be tied in that last call. If we're going to be able to keep working on this, we need to give Simon more." 

"Blair, we have a dead motorist with half his head blown away." 

"And hardly a shred of evidence linking Allyson to the shooting, which in any event is outside our jurisdiction and not a case that Major Crime would normally handle." 

"You may have a point," Jim admitted reluctantly. "But what do you think you can find up there?" 

"Maybe some answers, maybe just a little clarity." 

"And where does my drumming come in?" Jim was curious. 

"Can you give me a steady, continuous beat? I need something monotonous to help me ... you know ..." Blair waggled his hand forwards with a sideways motion like a fish's tail. 

"I think I was just insulted," Jim muttered unhappily. 

He knew full well that Blair's burgeoning shamanistic abilities were nothing to be scared of. Hell, Incacha had used them when he was with the Chopec, and Blair had shown himself to be no slouch in making these newfound powers work in their favor, but still Jim became overly protective whenever Blair used them so openly. It was the one place where Jim couldn't follow, couldn't protect his lover. Blair had to protect himself, and that raised the hackles on Jim's neck. He would not gainsay those feelings; he loved his guide too much to feel guilty about feeling powerless to protect him. 

"Insulted?" Blair was confused. 

"You called my drumming monotonous." 

Blair laughed. "You're the one who listens to Santana, man. If the cap fits, wear it." 

Jim watched the man across the table from him. His lover held his steady gaze, never relenting. "You're sure about this?" 

Blair nodded. 

"Okay." Jim breathed deeply. "It's been a long time, Blair." 

"I have faith, Jim." 

"In my drumming?" 

"In you." 

Jim saw the look of complete trust on Blair's face. It always made Jim's heart flip and gave him a feeling of absolute power and total helplessness, all at the same time. 

"I don't like this, Blair." Jim was honest. He needed to let Blair know he was not happy. 

"I know, Jim, but I have to do it." 

Jim saw the determination and nodded. Blair settled back in his chair, hands in his lap, palms up, one on top of the other. He gave Jim a last look and closed his eyes, controlling his breathing. Jim used his right hand to tap the table top in a single rhythmic beat as he listened to Blair's heartbeat. Jim fought to maintain the rhythm. He felt Blair go. It was always the same when his guide left him to go to the upper world to commune with the spirits. He kept the beat, watching his fingers tap out time on the table. Jim felt himself slipping, the regular tap of his fingers taking on more beats. A sound of drums, jungle drums, filled his ears and took his mind. 

* * *

Blair was surrounded by white; marble white floors and pillars that stretched upwards, far out of sight. As he walked he heard his shoes click on the hard, cold surface. He recognized the beat and smiled. His last conscious sight had been Jim's long fingers hitting the tabletop. That sound echoed in his footsteps. This is new, he thought. Previous trips to the upper world had found Blair in the jungle, normally at the temple confronted by the panther or Incacha or Jim, or sometimes a confusing mixture of all three. This nothingness was very different and he didn't know why. Slightly disconcerted, he kept on walking. 

He heard voices. They seemed to be far in the distance. They weren't angry voices; they seemed to be quite convivial, almost chatty, Blair thought. As he rounded another white marble corner he came upon four chairs set at the compass points, with a man sitting in each one. Blair walked into the space created by the four chairs. Each man wore a tuxedo and they smoked large Cuban cigars as they talked amongst themselves. The smoke hung in the air lazily slipping around each man's shoulders. 

Jim sat at north, his bowtie and cummerbund a deep blood red. There was a matching red stone in his ear as a stud. Blair had seen Jim in the spirit world before, but never like this. The red exuded strength and warmth and Blair felt himself taking a step closer to his lover, drawing strength from his very presence. None of the men acknowledged Blair. 

Sitting at south, opposite Jim, was Benny Ray Riddle. His tie and cummerbund were blue, a royal blue that changed the color of his eyes. At west sat Incacha. He too was in a tuxedo, his color green. Blair was transfixed, seeing the Chopec shaman with his painted face sitting in a high-backed winged chair, wearing a tuxedo and smoking a cigar. Blair shook his head trying to clear the confusion. He turned slowly to the final chair. The man that sat in that chair wore black. He would have looked quite normal apart from the fact that he had no face. Blair took a step closer to Jim. 

"He can't protect you." The faceless man spoke. 

"Who are you?" Blair asked, standing firm 

This was the upper world; this man, this evil couldn't harm him here as long as he remembered his way back. He listened for the beat and found it comfortingly still there. Blair breathed deeply. 

"I am your future, your fate." The man blew smoke rings into the air in front of him. "Your sentinel will not save you, guide. He will watch you bleed and know helplessness." 

Blair gulped. "You seem very sure. You know as well as I do that this place does not foretell the future; it is a place to talk, to listen, to communicate, not to threaten." 

The faceless man laughed. It was a hollow, cruel sound. "Believe what you want, young guide, but I tell you your blood will be spilt and your sentinel will not stop me." 

* * *

Simon Banks was tired. It was late. He had just finished a long meeting with the Chief of Police that had given him a pounding headache and the urge to kill the smarmy son of a bitch. He hated politics and he hated it even more when politicians used him and his department to win an election. He had fought the good fight and a compromise had been reached, but it had still left a sour taste in his mouth. The bullpen was empty as he walked through to his office. He opened the door, and stopped. His two best detectives sat on either side of the conference table. Both had coffee mugs in front of them, although Blair Sandburg's hands were completely relaxed. 

"Shit," Simon said out loud. Blair was doing that spirit walk thing again and Jim had zoned. "Jim." He turned to the older detective. 

Jim's hand moved up and down, tapping out a beat, but Jim was as far gone as his partner. His eyes were open, but he was definitely out of it, not there. Simon crossed the room and put a hand on Jim's shoulder, shaking the man sharply. 

He spoke louder. "Jim!" There was no reaction. He shook the detective again, using both hands. 

Jim took a deep shuddering breath and blinked several times. Simon saw his eyes trying to focus. "Simon, what have you done?" 

Simon heard the horror in his voice and stepped back. "You were zoned," he explained. 

"No I wasn't." Jim turned his eyes on his partner. 

"Blair!" he shouted and reached out. 

* * *

Blair felt Jim leave and saw the faceless man stand. The cigar in his hand turned into a gun. Blair looked around in horror. "Incacha, Riddle!" It was a cry for help. 

Suddenly there was a pain in his side and as he looked down, he saw a bloodstain spread across his shirt. He fell to his knees, his hands pushed to his side to stop the blood. 

* * *

Jim could hear Blair's heartbeat race, saw the younger man pale. Blair's fingers twitched. 

"Come back to me Blair. Listen to me, you have to come back." 

Simon stood still, watching the tableau before him play out. He didn't understand this shit, but he knew he had made a big mistake, maybe a huge mistake. He just hoped that it wasn't a fatal mistake. He watched Jim touch Blair's face gently and felt as though he were intruding, but nothing was going to drag him out of his office before he knew both men were alive and well. Blair opened his eyes. 

"Blair," Jim gasped, gripping his partner's forearms. 

"I'm okay, Jim." 

Simon wasn't convinced by Sandburg's statement. The man was pale and his hands shook. He stood, but Simon saw him use Jim to support himself. One hand went to his side and he drew the hand back, checking it for something Simon couldn't see. 

"Jim, I'm sorry." Simon was heartfelt in his apology. 

Blair looked up. "It's okay, Simon, you weren't to know, and really, we shouldn't have done this in your office without telling you." 

"Are you okay? Both of you?" 

"We're fine, Simon." Blair sounded convincing. 

"Well then, I need coffee." 

Simon poured himself a mug and sat down. He wanted to ask lots of questions about what he had just seen, but the feeling that he had already overstepped the mark held his tongue. 

Jim finally stood and took his hands off his partner. "I was there, Blair." 

Simon heard the surprise in his voice. 

"Yeah I know. Weird or what? Did you see anyone apart from me?" 

As each minute went by, Blair recovered more and more of his normal color. Jim shook his head, "But I could hear a noise like a buzzing. It was beginning to bug the hell out of me." 

"But you didn't see Incacha or Riddle or the faceless man?" 

Jim shook his head. "They were all there?" 

"It was totally different from any other time, Jim. There was no jungle, no spirit animals and it was scary." 

Simon listened to the two men's conversation, not sure he understood half of what they said; not sure that he wanted to. 

"What was scary, Chief? In the past you've always been comfortable in the spirit world; more comfortable than me." 

"He threatened me. The faceless man told me he was going to hurt me and that you wouldn't be able to save me." 

Now it was Jim's turn to pale. He gripped the arms of his chair and Simon grimaced at the pain Jim must be causing himself. 

"No one hurts you, Blair. I won't let them." 

"I know." 

Simon was staggered at the simple statement; there was no doubt in Blair's voice. 

"He threatened me, but I didn't believe him." 

"Who is the faceless man?" Simon couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. 

"Allyson." 

"Are you sure?" Simon couldn't help blurt out the question. 

"We're sure," Jim answered and Simon could hear the conviction in his voice. 

"Well then, we need to find him." Simon was determined. 

Blair laughed gently. "Easier said then done, man." 

Yawning, Blair reached out and put a hand on the table. Jim was at his side in an instant. Simon stood, but stayed behind his desk. 

"You two go home, get some rest. Let me work my magic. There's an APB out on this guy. We'll find him. Until then, try getting some sleep. You look like you could use it." 

Simon expected a battle, so was unprepared when both men acquiesced with his suggestion. 

"You'll call us as soon as you hear anything?" It was Jim who asked. 

"Scout's honor," Simon replied. 

* * *

The two men were silent as they made their way down in the elevator. Once in Jim's truck, Blair spoke. "Something strange is going on here, Jim." 

"You don't say, Sandburg," Jim replied with a smile. 

"Asshole," Blair retorted. 

Jim chuckled. 

"We've shared dreams and visions before, but you have never come with me to the spirit world. So why this time?" Blair pondered. 

"And what was the point if I didn't experience what you did or didn't hear what you heard?" 

"I don't know, but your presence gave me strength. It was though as just by being there, you were making me stronger. Maybe that's why you were there, maybe I needed that." 

"I don't like it, Blair. It's difficult enough keeping you safe in the real world, but if you need protecting in the spirit world, how am I going to do that if I can't even see the threat?" 

"I've told you, Jim, the spirit world isn't real in the sense that my corporeal body can be damaged in any way." 

Before he could continue, Jim interrupted, "But part of you is there, present in that world. I feel you leave, Chief. It's like there's a gap, a hole in my world. I know this sounds silly, but I really think if you get hurt there you might not be able to get back." 

Blair stared at his partner, "I'll always come back to you, Jim. Nothing could stop me." 

"But would you still be in one piece?" 

Blair heard the pain in Jim's voice. "The faceless man said he was going to spill my blood." Before he could continue Blair saw Jim flinch and heard the catch in his breathing. "Wait, Jim, let me finish." He put his hand on Jim's thigh, squeezing to reassure himself of the contact, as well as the man next to him. "There was blood and it was mine and I felt the pain, but part of me knew it wasn't real." 

"And part of you thought it was real, Chief." Jim's voice had a hardness to it now. "I heard your heart speed up, I saw your pain. It was real, Chief, real to you and real to me." There was anguish in that statement. "I can't lose you, Blair." 

Blair rubbed his hand up and down Jim's thigh. "You won't lose me, Jim, ever. You bought me back. I heard your voice and I came back to you and I was whole, unhurt. 

Jim took his hand off the steering wheel and covered the hand on his thigh. "Just make sure you stay that way." 

* * *

With awkward words spoken, the rest of the journey to the loft returned to normal. Both men found that their little adventure in the spirit world had given them an appetite, so they agreed on Chinese after Blair refused a trip to Wonderburger. Later as they lay in bed, Jim spooned up behind Blair, his finger tracing a circle over Blair's waist. They had not made love that night. Some unspoken agreement had left them cuddling under the covers, both men enjoying the warmth and simplicity of touch without sex. 

"There's something here," Jim said sleepily. 

"What?" 

"Like an echo," Jim tried to explain. 

"An echo?" 

"When I run my fingers over this spot," Jim repeated the movement, "I can feel something. It's like a scar, but there's no scar tissue and it's not really something I can feel, but it echoes in my head." 

"Like a sonar contact?" Blair asked. 

"Yeah just like that." 

"Maybe you should try putting your hand somewhere else?" Blair suggested, wiggling his backside. 

Jim didn't reply, but held his lover tightly. 

"Jim?" Blair asked. 

There was no reply. Jim waited until he knew the man in his arms was asleep before he spoke. "I love you, Blair Sandburg." 

* * *

The phone as an alarm clock was becoming an extremely annoying occurrence. Jim grabbed it first this time. "Ellison," he grumbled. 

He sat up, suddenly awake. 

"Sir, this is Dispatch. We've had a response on your APB. The vehicle was reported at Roseberry Mall on Baker and Third just ten minutes ago." 

Jim managed a snatched thank you before he was out of bed and rushing downstairs. Blair woke to a flurry of arms and legs and Jim shouting at him to get a move on. He was still yawning fifty minutes later as the truck screeched into Roseberry Mall parking lot A. It was a big mall. Jim wove between cars, trying to spot the red Dodge. Suddenly swinging the steering wheel to the left, Jim came to a halt by the red pickup. Two security guards stood by the car, hands on hips, bored by their duty. The windshield and rear window were missing, presumably shattered by the bullet that took the former driver's life. Blair took a quick glance inside and stepped back quickly. 

"Not good," he muttered under his breath. "Dial it down, man, until you've got a handle on it." 

Jim did as he was told. The inside of the cab was covered in splattered remains. Jim wondered how anyone could have driven the vehicle with blood and brains all over the seat, wheel and dash. Blair, who rested his back against the wheel arch, offered advice. "Follow the scent, Jim. He must be covered in the stuff." 

Jim stepped away from the vehicle and dialed his sense of smell back up. The sickly scent had left a trail through the car park, which Jim followed through the stationary vehicles. Two lots over, he stopped. Blair was behind him. 

"I'll contact security and get the videos from the security cameras. 

Jim nodded as Blair made his way back to the Dodge, which was being watched over by mall security. The smell had ended in the middle of the lot. Obviously, Allyson had managed to acquire another vehicle. Hopefully, the security tapes would tell them which one. He heard Blair call him and took off at a run back to his partner. The security guards led them inside. The control centre staff had the video already lined up, and it was relatively easy to pinpoint Allyson and identify the Kia Sportage he had stolen. Jim got the license plate before the security staff manipulated the video images to bring the plate into focus. Blair flipped his cell phone open and spoke to Rhonda. Jim relayed the number to his partner quietly as he passed it on to the Major Crime administration officer. 

As they made their way back to the Dodge, to wait for forensics, a familiar figure stood by Jim's truck. 

"Ellison." Benny Ray spoke, holding out his hand in greeting. 

Jim shook his hand. "Wondered when you would turn up," he said quietly. 

"Sandburg." Benny Ray turned to Blair next. The two men shook hands. 

"I wondered if there was any news on Shaw," Benny Ray asked. 

"You mean Allyson?" Blair queried. 

"It doesn't matter what he calls himself," Benny Ray replied. 

"No," Blair agreed. "How did you find us?" he wanted to know. 

"Does it matter?" Benny Ray queried, not answering the question. 

"Maybe, maybe not," replied Jim, drawing Benny Ray's gaze back to him. 

The radio in Jim's truck chose that moment to squawk into life. Jim opened the door and reached for the hand set. As he spoke, Jim looked out through the windshield and watched the two men warily weighing each other up. Neither spoke. Riddle studied his partner closely. Blair stood up to his scrutiny, but Jim could tell from the set of his shoulders that he wasn't entirely happy. Jim ended the conversation with Dispatch and put his head between the door and the body of the truck. 

"Sandburg, come on, we've got to go." 

Blair moved quickly to the passenger door and sat comfortably in the truck. Riddle stood in front of the truck, hands on hips. Jim stared at him waiting for him to move. Slowly the man took his hands off his hips and crossed his arms across his chest. 

Jim sighed. "Get in, Riddle." 

The man smiled and moved swiftly to sit next to Blair, who scooted over closer to Jim. It was a cozy fit in the front of the truck and Jim could feel the disquiet emanating from the man next to him. 

"A unit is following Allyson west on Ninth." 

"He's heading for the Interstate," Blair said. "If we cut across University Drive we might be able to head him off." 

Jim took off fast, red and blue lights flashing, siren wailing. The journey through the midmorning traffic was chaotic. Blair, in the middle of the two men, found he had no way to brace himself, and at least twice thought he was going to be flung through the windshield, when Jim braked violently. Both times Jim's arm held him in place. On the second occasion an additional arm joined Jim's. He grinned his thanks to Benny Ray, who nodded, a slightly surprised look on his face, almost as though he couldn't believe what he had done. 

Sliding left on to University Drive, Jim spoke tersely as he righted the truck. "They're up ahead." 

"Where?" Benny Ray asked peering forward. 

So his enhanced sight isn't as good as Jim's, Blair thought. "Can you hear the sirens?" Blair asked, wanting to know more. 

"No," Benny Ray said, still squinting. 

"Chief, this is no time for tests," Jim said firmly. 

Busted, thought Blair, unrepentant. 

"There they are." Benny Ray pointed. 

Blair could see nothing. He had to get these two men in a lab and test their senses against each other. A stab of pain in his side stopped his reverie. He touched his hand to the spot where he had bled, where Jim had felt the echo. The pain was gone. 

"You okay, Chief?" Jim was concerned; Blair could hear it in his words. 

"I'm fine, Jim." 

"He's turned off," Benny Ray announced. 

"I know," Jim replied. "Damn, lost him." 

Jim coaxed even more speed from the truck as they followed Allyson's route. Pulling up beside the abandoned Kia Sportage, Jim ran from the truck to the police car that blocked its path. Blair followed him, coming to a sudden halt as he spotted the two bodies still inside. Jim checked both men. Turning back to Blair, he issued instructions. "Call it in, Chief, officer down. 

Blair nodded and flipped his cell phone open. Watching as Jim went to the abandoned car, Blair studied the two men prowling in and around the vehicle. They spoke, but Blair was unable to hear what they said. Jim moved off, taking out his badge. Half a dozen students were cowering behind a hedge that lined the street. More students hung in groups further back, unsure of what had happened, unwilling to leave, but still scared. Blair finished his call and heard sirens in the distance as the other police cars who had been involved in the chase got closer. Two of the students to whom Jim was talking pointed towards the quadrangle in the middle of the science campus. Jim jogged back. 

"Allyson is on foot. He still has the rifle. Chief, I want you to stay here. Let the uniforms know what we know and get them to start an evacuation. We don't want anyone else getting hurt." 

A chill ran through Blair's body. "I don't think that is a good idea, Jim." He stared at his partner, trying to impart urgency into his words. 

Benny Ray put his hand on Blair's shoulder. "Don't worry; I'll take care of your man." 

Blair shook his head; the chill was still there. 

"It will be okay, Chief." Jim put warmth into his voice, but it didn't touch Blair. 

"Riddle, you carrying?" Jim asked Benny Ray. 

Benny Ray lifted his jacket so that Jim could see his Sig Sauer. "And it's all legal." 

The two men took off running as Blair nervously waited. It took longer than Blair wanted to get things settled enough to allow him to go after his sentinel. Jogging over to the Mackenzie quadrangle, Blair looked for signs of either man. A fire alarm suddenly went off and the double doors of the medicine faculty burst open. Hordes of young students ran down the steps. As the fastest crossed the open square, one fell and, a split second later, the sound of a shot rang out. Another student fell before screams and terror overtook the remainder of the students. Some turned and ran back inside the building they had just left; others scattered, diving for cover and what safety they could gain. 

Blair set off for the fallen students. Before he could get to them, a sharp pain took his breath. Not now, he thought, but then his legs stopped working and he fell forward, hitting the paved surface hard. The pain got worse and, pulling his hand from his side, he saw the blood on his fingertips and felt the truth of the faceless man's words twist in his gut. He tried to get to his feet. Out in the middle of the quadrangle he was totally exposed, at the mercy of Allyson. Pain shot through his body and he dropped back to the ground, having only raised himself up a couple of inches. Panting, he lay still, waiting for the waves of pain to pass. Blood dripped on the concrete, stark red against the pale gray stone. 

The agony dropped back to levels that allowed Blair to breathe, and he used his arms to drag himself forward. The agony came back and the pavement in front of him wavered. Blair stopped, dropped his head onto his arms and felt the sweat on his forehead. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pushed one arm forward and used it to drag himself a couple of inches. The cover of the plinth of the statue of Archimedes was only yards away, but to Blair it was an impossible distance, an Everest away. His right arm moved in front now and Blair concentrated on the bloodstained fingers as his sight wavered again. A puff of dust exploded in front of him and he heard a shot. His pain-addled brain struggled to make sense of this sequence of events until his left arm moved in front and he tried to move himself another couple of inches. The explosion of dust erupted in front of him again. Blair stopped, the strength ebbing from him. Oh god, he sobbed, he's got me pinned down. The world faded out and came back in agonizing seconds. Blair laid his head down and let the grayness at the edges of his world blanket him. 

* * *

The two men had skirted around the edge of the quadrangle, using the buildings to cover their movement; as one ran, the other provided cover. They worked silently, signaling with their hands when necessary. They had covered two sides of the quadrangle when Jim signaled them to stop and hunker down. Listening, he heard screams. He took off between the buildings, heading for the rear of the medicine faculty. Benny Ray caught up with Jim as the older man waited below the steps that led into the rear of the building. 

"He's inside," Jim told Benny Ray. 

"He is?" Benny Ray raised one doubting eyebrow. 

"I can hear screaming inside." 

"Lead on then." 

Cautiously, they climbed the steps. They stood either side of the doors. On a silent count of three, Jim went high through the doors while Benny Ray went low. A student, head deep in a book, screamed as the door burst open. Jim showed her his badge and reassured her as Benny Ray went left to the end of the corridor that ran the length of the building. The girl had been ushered out of the door and down the steps by the time Benny Ray got back. 

"This way," Jim indicated with his head. 

The two men stopped outside the lecture hall. A single voice could be heard behind closed doors. Jim opened the door and went in. Quickly he explained who he was and the need for the building to be evacuated. It took only a few short minutes to empty the room. As Jim turned to leave, Benny Ray stopped with his a hand on his arm. 

"Are you planning to empty the building one room at a time?" he asked. 

When Jim answered, "Yes," Benny Ray shook his head. "Where did this screaming you heard come from you?" 

"This way." Jim led Benny Ray down the corridor turning left at the end and into an office. Three women cowered behind their desks. 

"Cascade P.D.," Jim said loudly holding up his badge. "What happened here?" 

One of the women stood up. "A man with a rifle was in the corridor. He wanted to know the way to the roof. When Lindy asked him why, he hit her with the rifle. I thought he was going to kill us all," she swallowed. 

"Is she okay?" Jim gestured to the woman with the swollen face. 

"I think her jaw is broken." 

"Police are on the scene. Call 911 and tell them where you are and that you need medical attention." 

"Which way did the man go?" Benny Ray interrupted 

"After he hit Lindy, he got really angry. I was too frightened to speak. He just ran off." The woman was shaking. 

"Ma'am, I know this is a bad situation, but we need to know where this man went." Benny Ray was gently persuasive. 

"He left," she sniffed, tears forming in her eyes. "Through the side door, down the corridor." 

"Thank you," Benny Ray said quietly. 

The two men left the room at a run, making for the side door. As they slowed to go through the door, Benny Ray hit the fire alarm with his fist and pulled the lever. 

"What did you do that for?" Jim shouted over the noise. 

"You wanted the building cleared," Benny Ray said, deadpan. 

In the fresh air there was no sign of Allyson. Jim ducked as he heard first one shot and then another. Screams of fear beat upon his hearing. 

"Damn it, which way?" Jim said angrily. 

Benny Ray looked around and started moving away from Jim. A third shot rang out. Jim stood slowly and started walking in the opposite direction to Benny Ray, towards the quadrangle. 

"Ellison, where are you going?" shouted Benny Ray, slowing as he realized Jim wasn't with him. 

Jim didn't answer. There was another shot and then another. Jim moved out of the shadow of the buildings that bordered the quadrangle. His eyes swept across the open space, taking in the hiding students, the fallen bodies, the statue standing proud, a splash of red and a sprawl of chestnut curls. His eyes stopped. Later he would tell his lover that at that moment he thought his heart had stopped as well. He walked slowly at first, and then he ran. 

"Ellison!" Benny Ray shouted 

He paused momentarily, and then Benny Ray started running. 

* * *

Jim Ellison was only feet away from his stricken partner when he felt and heard a high velocity bullet pass in front of him. He ducked and rolled, the ground hitting his shoulder hard. His roll had taken him away from Blair at an angle. As he came back to a crouch another bullet crossed his path and then another, all hitting the ground in front of him. Blair was only feet away, blood pooling around his middle. Blair was breathing slowly but steadily. 

"Blair," he called out. 

There was no response. He reached forward. The next bullet hit closer this time, driving him back a couple of feet. As he tried to regain the ground he had lost, another bullet hit, inches away. Jim took his eyes off his partner for the first time in minutes and looked around for the shooter. 

"Where are you, you bastard?" he shouted. "He's bleeding to death here, you fuck." 

"Blair," he called out again. 

Hearing footsteps behind him Jim gestured the paramedics back. He reached forward again, but another bullet hit close by. Jim breathed hard, unsure of what to do. His eyes went to the buildings surrounding him. He scanned the roofs and windows, but there was no sign of Allyson. 

"Where are you?" he whispered to himself. 

His phone rang. 

"Not now," he muttered through gritted teeth. The phone continued to ring. Jim ignored it, still searching. Suddenly a bullet hit the ground inches from Blair's head, stirring the curls that lay on the ground. 

"Jesus!" Jim swore. 

Another shot hit almost the same spot. 

"Alright, you bastard, I got the message," he shouted. 

Jim moved back about three feet, but stayed crouched low to the ground. His cell phone rang again. "Damn it," he growled and pulled the phone roughly from his pocket. He didn't recognize the number. He took the call. 

"What?!" he shouted. 

"Ellison, what the hell is going on? Can you see him?" 

"Riddle, how the fuck did you get this number?" 

Jim heard the sigh at the other end of the phone. "Focus, Ellison, can you see him?" 

"No, I've checked." 

"Check again. I am not letting him go now." Riddle's voice was cold. 

"He shot Blair," Jim explained. 

"Is he dead?" Riddle asked. 

"No." Jim was in tune with Blair's vitals. 

"Then get your mind back on point, soldier, or this bastard is going to pick off your people one at a time. Help me here, Ellison." 

Jim looked up from his partner to search the buildings once more. He heard Riddle's breathing over the phone. 

"Nothing ... no, wait." Jim had caught something, a metallic glint. It wasn't in any of the closest buildings. His eyesight flew further and there, five hundred yards away on the roof of a building he recognized from Blair's days on campus, he could see the long metallic snout of a rifle. 

"Where are you, Riddle?" 

"Where are you?" came the response. 

"Dead center of the quadrangle. 

"Three o'clock, two hundred yards." 

"Your sit rep seven o'clock, eight hundred yards, roof." 

"Wait," Riddle ordered. 

Jim checked Blair's vitals. His pulse had slowed further and the pool of blood was growing. 

"Hurry up, Riddle." 

"Okay," Riddle panted. "Fifteen-storey building, five hundred yards from your position, smoked glass windows?" It was a question. 

"Yes, on the roof, thirty yards in from the right," Jim answered. 

"Take care of your man, Ellison," Riddle told him. 

"Benny Ray, don't do anything I'd have to arrest you for," Jim warned. 

"You do your job, Ellison, I'll do mine." 

The phone went dead. Jim gave one more thought to the quiet man who had so recently entered their lives and then turned his attention back to his partner. "Hold on, Blair, not long now." 

* * *

The tiger hunted. From his position he would have to cross a lot of open ground. For a second the tiger weighed speed against caution. The frustration of the hunt of the last two weeks overtook him, and speed won the argument. He ran as fast as he could, his strong loping strides eating up the ground. He had no sense of being shot at. Ellison must be keeping him distracted, he thought gratefully. The building with the smoked glass windows was one of the tallest on campus. A sign outside pronounced it as the Mackenzie Technologies Building. He took the information in almost subconsciously, as he slowed his run to go up the steps and through the double doors. There was no one else in the entrance hall. 

The proximity of his prey enraged the tiger as he headed to the elevator. Fortunately for the inhabitants of the building, there was no one in the elevator as it rode its slow way up to the fifteenth floor. Progress was too slow for the tiger, which paced the small space waiting for its release from captivity. Finally the elevator reached its destination and the tiger stepped into the corridor. Voices could be heard behind closed doors. Classes were in session in the laboratories that the tiger passed as he made his way towards the marked service stairs. He pushed through the door and drew his weapon. He checked there was a bullet in the chamber and moved in for the kill. 

The steps up to the roof were guarded by a door that was marked 'authorized personnel only'. The lock had been shattered by a bullet. Entering through the door was going to make him an easy target for a man like Shaw. He needed a distraction. Stepping back down the stairs to put one turn of the stairwell between him and the door, Riddle organized his distraction. 

* * *

"You want what?" Jim shouted into the phone. 

"Listen, Ellison, it's the only way. I need to get onto the roof," Riddle explained. 

"Riddle, this man is the best shot I've ever seen," Jim remonstrated in reply. 

"You haven't seen me shoot then." 

"And I'm not likely to at this rate. Giving you a distraction is going to get me killed, Riddle." 

Riddle could hear the anger in the words. "Then it won't be much of a distraction, will it?" 

Benny Ray cut the connection before Jim had a chance to say again what a stupid and dangerous idea the distraction was. The seconds ticked by as Riddle crouched by the door to the roof. 

* * *

The tiger waited, patiently certain. Eventually bullets sprayed across the roof, some hitting the door behind which Riddle crouched. 

"Shit, Ellison, the distraction wasn't supposed to get me killed too," Riddle muttered as he pushed the door open and slipped through. 

Immediately he was through the door he stepped right and what he hoped was further away from Shaw. The side of the roof entrance protected him and he continued to move to the right until one more turn would expose his target to him. More bullets continued to spray across the roof and Riddle waited until Ellison's distraction was over. Quiet descended. Dropping low, Riddle peered around the final turn. Shaw was across the roof, fifty feet away, his back to Riddle. From where he was hidden, Riddle could smell the man's fear. Again he waited. Lessening the critical attack distance would give him a better chance of a successful kill. He knew he could take out his target from where he was with the Sig Sauer, but that was not how the tiger killed. Shaw moved his own position, unwittingly taking him closer to Riddle. The tiger raised its head and then lowered it, judging the distance and angle to his prey. Suddenly raising his body, he charged, and in the moment, the man was lost in the beast. 

After, he couldn't even remember when the knife came into his hand. At the time he knew that his left hand pulled the chin up and the right swept the knife across the soft white skin, spilling warm blood out in arc. Shaw didn't even speak. There was one short, brief gurgle and the target was down. Death took thirty seconds, the body twitching at the tiger's feet. The man came back, and Riddle cleaned his knife on the dead man's shirt before sheathing it back inside his boot. He looked down towards the quadrangle. A flurry of police and paramedics swarmed across the open area. Stooping to pick up the fallen man's rifle, Riddle sighted down the barrel. Ellison was easy to spot amongst all the others. He was kneeling beside his prone partner, holding his hand, brushing strands of hair that blew in the breeze. Those two are an item, that's for sure, he thought. Riddle couldn't say he understood it, but it didn't bother him; he had seen a lot worse in his life and they were the good guys, no doubt about that. 

And that was the problem. In another life, in another world, Benny Ray knew he could be friends with these two men, but in this life they were on the right side of the thin blue line and Benny Ray was way over on the wrong side of that line. He had just murdered a man in cold blood. It was nasty, efficient and messy and, in Benny Ray's world, justified. He knew his team and his CIA handler would thank him when he got back to Hermosa Beach, Los Angeles and congratulate him on a job well done. Ellison, on the other hand, would have to arrest him. Benny Ray could understand that and empathize with the man, but death was Benny Ray's way of life. He was made in blood, steeped in blood and would no doubt die covered in his own blood on some damn fine night. He had long ago accepted that and had no trouble with it. The trouble he had was leaving now, sneaking away without saying goodbye, and more importantly, without knowing if Sandburg was going to make it. Such was his life; the way of the warrior. 

Chapter 6 

"Want some water, Chief?" Jim asked, hoping to put off the inevitable for a few more minutes. 

The inevitable had been put off since Blair had woken up four hours after being moved out of recovery and into ICU. Jim had been saved then by the fact that his partner was in too much pain and too full of drugs to think coherently. Jim had offered up a prayer of thanks that his lover was going to live and another that, after enough R and R, he would still be in one piece. It had taken another forty-eight hours before Blair had been capable of rational thought to start asking questions. Jim had promised answers when they got home. Blair had been placated, but now they were home and Jim knew the answers he had were unlikely to satisfy his partner's insatiable appetite. Truth be told, Jim had his own questions, and he wasn't sure he would like the answers to them either. Jim sat on the couch and handed over the cold bottle of water. 

"Need any pain pills?" he asked quietly, already knowing the answer. 

Blair shook his head. He was suffering, but hated taking any more pills than was absolutely necessary. Jim respected that decision, even though he hated it. Blair patted the couch next to him and Jim acceded to the silent request. Moving in close, he took the hand that had patted the couch and took his own courage in two hands. 

"Blair ..." he struggled to say any more. 

"Ask, Jim," Blair replied, leaning his head against the back of the couch and closing his eyes, while Jim massaged the hand. 

"What point is all this spirit world stuff if it doesn't help you?" 

He had been angry since the shooting. Initially his anger had been directed at Allyson but, when he had finally seen the body, that anger had disappeared. The gaping wound where once a throat had been was horrific. To Jim it looked almost as though the throat had been ripped out by an animal, but Dan Wolfe had later reported the wound had been caused by a single knife cut. Jim had shuddered at the ferocity that had caused it. With the man who had shot his partner dead, Jim had turned his anger to the man who had vanished. Benny Ray Riddle had gone. No one had seen him leave; there were no reports of anyone of his name or description leaving the area by plane, train or bus. It was as though the man had never existed. Benny Ray had been the center of Jim's ire for many hours until he admitted to himself, while sitting at Blair's bedside in the middle of the night, holding his hand, watching him toss and turn in fevered sleep and hearing him call out to Jim for rescue, that he too would have sliced the man's throat from ear to ear if it could have saved Blair from the pain. Then Jim had no one to be angry at, so he was angry at himself and at anyone he chose. 

"It did what it said it would do, Jim," Blair sighed. 

"Damn it, Blair. You nearly died. Don't joke about this." 

"The doc said I wasn't in any real danger. The bullet went straight through." Blair kept his voice low. 

"If you had lost much more blood it would have been fatal. Don't try and snow me, Sandburg." Jim was trying hard not to get angry at Blair. 

"But I didn't die, Jim." Blair was playing peacekeeper again. 

"Only because Riddle killed Shaw," Jim said petulantly. 

Blair turned his head and looked at Jim. "I'm okay, Jim." 

Jim took the hand he had been massaging and kissed the palm. "You were in the spirit world, we both were. You even got a warning, but it did no good, you still got hurt. So tell me, what is the point of it all?" 

Blair was quiet before he spoke again. "To be honest, Jim, I'm new to this myself, but I think," he paused. "It taught us a lesson." 

"That's a tough way to learn a lesson, Chief." 

Blair nodded. "We have to realize that even though I am a shaman and we both have spirit animals, the spirit world is home to many souls; good, bad and in between, and basically, it is indifferent to all of them. We have to learn to interpret what we see there, what we experience there." 

"So I only saw you." Jim replayed the images in his mind. 

"And what do you think that means?" Blair asked. 

Jim knew this was important and the answer he had come up with both embarrassed him and made him invincible. He forced the words out, words that weren't easy for him to say. "Whatever else happens we always have each other." 

It sounded simple, but meant so much. Blair gave him a smile that lit up his soul. 

"Maybe you should be the shaman, man." 

"That job is all yours, Sandburg. What about what you saw?" Jim wanted to know. 

"That's a little more difficult. The faceless man was Shaw, that was obvious, and I think the fact that none of you reacted to the threat he made meant it was something you couldn't prevent. I was meant to face the threat alone." 

"I don't like the sound of that, Blair." 

"Maybe I'm wrong; this is all just guesswork. One thing I am sure of is that you can't just dial up the spirit world and expect it to give you answers. It doesn't work like that." 

"Which is what we did," Jim supplied Blair's unspoken thought. 

Blair nodded. Jim studied his partner's face. The skin was pale and dry, the eyes ringed with shadows. "Tired?" Jim queried. 

"Yeah, a little." 

Jim scooted back and held out his arms. "Lie down." 

With a groan Blair shifted position so that his head lay in Jim's lap and, carefully, he brought his feet onto the couch. 

"Want a cover?" Jim asked. 

"Nope." 

Getting comfortable, Blair asked the question Jim knew he would. "What happened to Benny Ray?" 

"No sign of him. A warrant has been issued, but I don't think he is ever going to be picked up on it. In fact I would bet that warrant will be quietly buried, if it doesn't disappear altogether." 

"Why?" Blair wanted to know. 

"When word of the shooting hit the news Jack Kelso called to see how you were. It seems he knows of Mr. Riddle," Jim explained. 

"He does! Tell me what he said?" Blair was intrigued. 

"It seems he has some tenuous and not fully explained links to a CIA handler called Trout. He and a group of ex-military and ex-CIA types do some of the dirty work that the government thinks is beyond even Spec Ops." 

Blair raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That explains a lot. What do you think about that?" 

"I've come across guys like him before. Most of them are mean bastards that I wouldn't give the time of day to, but he was different. I would have liked to get to know him better." 

"Maybe we will," Blair murmured drowsily. 

"Want to move upstairs?" Jim asked concerned. 

"It's the middle of the day, Jim," Blair complained. 

"So?" Jim answered suggestively. 

"You're incorrigible, man" 

"I hope so," said Jim, as he bent his head to brush his lips against Blair's. 

Blair licked Jim's lips. "I hurt all over," Blair sighed. 

"All over?" 

"Almost all over." 

Jim slipped out from under his lover and laid Blair's head gently on the cushions. He knelt beside the couch and lifted Blair's arm. He kissed the elbow. "Does it hurt here?" 

"No," Blair smiled. 

Jim moved to the knee. "Here?" 

"Actually, yes." 

Jim kissed the knee again and moved lower to Blair's feet. Gently he removed the thick socks and kissed the toes. "Here?" 

"No." 

Jim knelt back and surveyed the body in front of him. Lifting the layers of clothes he inspected the bandages that wrapped the beautiful body he loved so much. He kissed the bandages. "Here?" 

Blair nodded. Jim noticed the burgeoning signs of an erection in his lover and kissed the material that restrained Blair's cock. "Here?" 

"No." 

"No?" Jim asked and slowly undid the buttons on Blair's pants. 

"Mmmmm," Blair squirmed. "As much as I would love to, I think if I want to keep my stitches intact, I have to say no." He groaned in disappointment. 

Jim kissed the lips that now pouted. "Soon, lover." 

"Kiss me." 

"Your wish is my command." 

The next few minutes were silent. When they parted Blair licked his lips and sighed again. "Tell me what happened." 

It wasn't a request, more a statement, a demand for the truth. Jim thought he had avoided this. He knew he should have known better. "I couldn't get to you. Every time I tried that bastard just fired another shot. All I could do was watch you bleed." Jim stopped, just the memory terrifying him. 

"It's okay, Jim, I'm okay," Blair reassured him. 

"Riddle called, wanting a distraction. I thought he was crazy, that he was going to get us all killed." 

"What did you do?" 

"I moved back. I left you." Jim looked chagrined, but Blair just smiled at him. "I took a rifle off of one of the SWAT team and got as close as I could to the Mackenzie building and just laid down covering fire. You know it doesn't matter that I have enhanced sight, there's more to being a sniper than good sight. I know damn well I wasn't as good as Shaw, and Riddle reckoned he was better that that. Over shorter distances my sight would give me the accuracy those guys have, but over longer distances it's about controlling your breathing, controlling your body, judging distance, elevation, windage; so many things all at once, things I don't have right now. Being a sniper is more than just being able to see your target and pull the trigger, it's a state of mind. 

"You could do it if you practiced." 

"Yeah," Jim nodded. "But I don't want to. I'm not a sniper, it's not who I am." 

"You're a sentinel." 

"And you're my guide." 

"Got that right." 

"I remember staring down the barrel and suddenly there was this spray of red. I knew it was Riddle. I dropped the rifle and headed straight for you." 

Blair didn't respond and Jim, still on his knees, played with Blair's hair, running it through his fingers. "I'm so glad you're still here." 

"Me too," Blair answered and pulled his lover down to kiss him again. 

* * *

On a beach in Los Angeles a gray-eyed man with a well-muscled body and close-cropped hair lay on his stomach in the sand, writing. The words were few and simple, but heartfelt. 

"Glad to hear the little guy is okay. Keep him safe. Semper Fi." 

Turning the card over he smiled at the photo of a white tiger wading through a green pool of water. He turned the card back over and wrote another sentence. 

"Come on in, the water's fine." 

* * *

The End. 

* * *

End 

The Warrior by Rae Evans: rae2412@aol.com  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


End file.
